


The Other Side

by crossingwinter



Series: Somewhat canonical [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Afterlife, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-16
Updated: 2009-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 66,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who says Life stops after Death?  Because it most certainly doesn’t.  Just because Nearly-Headless-Nick doesn’t know what happens on ‘the other side’ doesn’t mean that we don’t.  The story of Lily and James’ adaptation into Death and their inability to stop looking after (read: stalk) their son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It felt rather like falling asleep, only a little stranger.  That was the only way he could think to describe it.  Dying, that is. 

What was stranger was the fact that two minutes later, he opened his eyes in a large room that was full of people sitting on long couches, reading newspapers, chatting with neighbors.  He scratched his head a little, and sat down (not wanting to be the only one standing). 

“Will Mr. James Potter please come to the podium?” came a voice over an intercom.  James stood up, and looked for the podium.  For some reason, he was not at all shocked to have been called.  He saw it.  Behind it sat an old gray woman.  He approached it, and the woman handed him a key. 

“Take Elevator P to the 7,777,777th floor.  Your house is 210 Rue Colbert.”  And with that she waved him away. 

James was confused.  Very confused.

But he found the elevator and hit the button leading to the proper floor.  He walked down a street lined with matching houses and flower gardens and hedges until he found a street sign marked Rue Colbert.  He walked down that one for a while until he found number 210 (it wasn’t hard: it was the only one with no flowers out front).  It was a fairly large house, considering that it was empty.  He opened the front door, crossed an entryway and sat down in the living room. 

“So.  I am dead.  I am sitting in a house, alone, in Death.  I have no idea if Lily and Harry will be all right.  I have no idea about anything at all.  I have no idea why on earth there is a toaster sitting on the coffee table before me.  All in all, I know nothing.  Excellent,” he said to himself. 

He had a habit of speaking aloud.  It was a habit Lily found endearing and one that Sirius often made fun of.  A pang shot through him at the thought of Sirius.  Would he be all right?  Would he be able to convince Dumbledore that he hadn’t betrayed them?  Of course he could.  Lily would help him.

Except no, she couldn’t, because she had just walked through the door and sat down on the couch next to him.

The two of them sat there, neither of them daring to ask the question they so longed to ask: what of their son.  They held hands quietly, shooting glances at one another periodically.

Finally, Lily spoke.  “Why the hell is there a toaster on a coffee table?”

“I was wondering that myself,” replied her husband.

“I mean, I understand why there would be a toaster.  That is not completely beyond me.  Toaster means toast and toast is food.  But why not in the kitchen?  Is there a kitchen?”

“I think there is.  I can see an icebox through that door.”

Lily craned her neck.  “So you can.  So then why the toaster?”

The answer made itself quite clear in about three and a half seconds following this question.

A letter popped out of the toaster.

_To: Mr. and Mrs. James Potter_

_210 Rue Colbert_

_7777777 P_

_Death_

_  
_

_Dear Lily and James,_

_If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to drop by at your earliest possible convenience.  Please send a little note by return toaster and I will pop over.  (You write something, put my name and address (see below) on the envelope and put it in the toaster as you would to make toast.)_

_Yours Affectionately,_

_Ariana Dumbledore_

_47 Place de la Chappelle Orientale Apt. 487_

_45,235,649 D_

_Death_

 

Lily and James glanced at each other.  The name Dumbledore alone meant that they felt some sort of trust in this unknown person.  Not to mention that they had absolutely nothing to lose at this point.

So they replied, “Thank you very much.  Feel free to drop by any time you like,” and sent it by return toaster.

Forty seven seconds later, there was a knock on the front door.

Lily opened it.  A small girl of about fourteen stood before her. 

“Hello,” smiled the girl brightly.  She walked inside.  She had curly blonde hair and a demeanor that was, for lack of a better word, bouncy.  When she walked, she had a spring in her step and when she sat down and smiled, she bounced a little bit the chair opposite James.  Her blue eyes twinkled in exactly the same way as Professor Dumbledore’s.

“We’d offer you something, but I’m not exactly sure if we have anything.  Or if, for that matter, you can eat things in death.  Can you eat things in death?” he asked her.

“Oh yes.  Your icebox should be full.  They don’t empty.  It’s rather nice, actually, because if you feel like having a sandwich, there are all the sandwich supplies.  My dad once fancied eating monkey brains for some unfathomable reason and when we opened up the fridge, there they were, ready to eat. 

“I’m so glad that I was the first to find you.  It was very lucky I was on the right channel.  If not, it would have been one of the Prewett twins and I wanted to beat them because they found Marlene McKinnon first when she died.”

“What do you mean, channel?” asked Lily.

“It’s like a muggle television.  The problem with death is we all just hang around and we can’t really do anything because Maya runs the entire show and if we want to change something we have to pass it by her and it is really awful because she is always overworked and never has time to answer our questions.  In other words, this place is basically a libertarian (or communist) heaven, whichever way you choose think about it: anyone can do what they want.  So long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else.  Anyway.  We basically get to watch what is going on in Life.” 

She stood up and tapped the wall opposite the couch.  It turned blue and a menu appeared offering four options: (1) A rerun of the World Cup of your choice (2) Spanish Soap Operas (3) The DIN (Death International News) (4) The Cooking Channel.  Ariana pressed number 3 and a moment later, they were watching some strange short Asian man wearing a black suit talk.  She pressed the wall again and a “search” panel appeared.

“Here.  Who do you want to spy on?” she asked. 

“Harry,” they both replied at once.

Ariana wrote _Harry James Potter_ with her fingers in the search panel and a moment later, they saw their son in the ruins of their house.  He was screaming and crying at the top of his lungs.  Lily clutched James’ hand.

“I’m afraid that it is always rather depressing to watch the people you love after you die.  No matter what, bad things happen.  Aberforth broke Albus’ nose at my funeral, which is not exactly something I would have wanted, given everything.  I mean really, it wasn’t like it was his fault or anything.”

“His fault about what?” asked James.

“That I died.  Albus killed me. Well, I suppose it sounds rather awful, doesn’t it.  In truth, I couldn’t be more grateful.  Life was not that great for me.  I was insane, you see, and quite incapable of using magic at all.  Death is so much nicer.  So much more calm and all that.  Unfortunately, neither of my brothers realizes that this is how I feel, so they are likely to continue living their lives in complete misery until they die.  Pity.  I really am quite thankful they ended it.”

There was a pause.  Lily glanced at James who was looking resolutely at their screaming child.  Her eyes followed his and her heart wrenched towards her son. 

“How do we turn it off?” asked Lily.  She could hear the tightness of her own voice.

Ariana waved a hand and it went blank. 

“Anyway.  It is always exceedingly depressing to watch people just after you die.  I’ve recommended a few times just reading the newspapers to keep yourself updated until you have fully …damn it.”

“What?”

“I hate it when I can’t think of a word for something.  It’s a verb, it means to become accustomed to something.  I think it begins with an A.”

“Acclimated?”

“That’s the one.  Until you have become fully acclimated to death.  Doesn’t usually take long by our standards of time, but in Life time…well, it can take a few years.”

“Does Life travel faster than Death?” asked James

“Well, yeah.  I mean, Death lasts an eternity of Life, right?  It’s more interesting if it goes on faster.  I think its like a year in life is about a week or so in death.  I don’t remember exactly.  It’s kind of the same theory behind dog years, or at least, that’s what Gideon tells me…although I have been dead longer than him, so…Nevermind.”

“Gideon?”

“Gideon Prewett.  And Fabian.  But Fabian is nicer.  A bit more serious.  Gideon is kind of…”

“We know the Prewetts, though!” said Lily, looking at James rather excitedly.

“Yes.  That’s right.  You do.  I forgot.  In any event, they are here, and they should be showing up rather soon, I would imagine.”

There was a slightly awkward pause.

“Why do we use toasters for sending mail?” demanded James, “Is something wrong with owls."

“Well, I’m not too sure.  There are a lot of rumors.  The best one is that Maya was feeling particularly ill, so Henry had to take over the desk so she could sleep and Henry was trying to make her some toast, but when he did, he accidentally put in a television bill and…I don’t remember how it gets there, but it ends with us using toasters for mail.   Cassandra is convinced that the muggles are going to figure out about it and incorporate it into one of their television series, but no one believes her, poor dear.  But then again, what else is new?”

“Cassandra…of Troy?” asked Lily.

“Oh yes.  She’s a bit loony, but I like her all right.  She and I are the heads of the Flimbert Society.”

“The Flimbert Society?”

“Yes.  But I’m sorry that neither of you can enter it.  The rules are rather set in stone.”

“What exactly is the Flimbert Society?”

“Can’t tell you.  Top Secret.”

“Ah.”

There was a knock on the door.  Ariana was up in a flash and she had opened it before Lily and James even realized that she was out of her chair.

“HAH!” she shrieked.

“All right fine!  You beat me.  All Hail Ariana.  You happy?” demanded a familiar voice.

“Gideon Prewett,” said James, somewhat astonished.

“Hallo.  Welcome to Death.”

“Er, thanks?” said Lily, standing up and greeting him.

“I hope this little twit hasn’t been bugging you too much.  She can be rather obnoxious at times, and if she ever is, feel free to clock her upside the head.  It does wonders for her character,” smiled Gideon.  Big and red-haired as he ever had been, this man brought a strange sense of power into the room.  It was not the kind of power that James had always fancied he’d had (one that came more from his brains, followed closely by his ability to carry through on his threats), but one that was more like a young, irritated chimpanzee: it’s better just to nod and smile, or he will annoy the shit out of you for a very long time.

“I beat you here by a full ten minutes.  How does that make you feel, huh?” demanded Ariana, doing her best to grow by bouncing up and down.  She failed rather dismally as she was not even five feet tall, whereas Gideon was well over six.

“Well exercised.  You see, I walked across town here.  You just took the closest lift, which is just cheating, plain and simple.”

“If I walked all the way from D, I swear I would only be in E right now, and just barely.”

“You would also be in excellent shape.”

“You know, I’m about a hundred years older than you.  You should treat me with some respect.”

“Do you get the feeling we are intruding on something?” James asked his wife in a whisper.

“Oh yes.  Yes, I do.  Won’t you come in and sit down?” Lily asked the last part of Gideon. 

“No, I can’t actually.  I must dash.  I have quidditch practice.”  James ears metaphorically perked up.

“What?”

“The DQL—Death Quidditch League.  You should find yourself a team James.  It’s excellent fun.  Anyway, I wanted to pop in and say hello before I practiced, because I will probably be too wiped out afterwards to be at all entertaining.”

“Bye Gideon!” smiled Ariana, and she closed the door in his face, before he could even finish his sentence.  He rolled his eyes through the glass panes of the front door, then waved and walked off.

“That was a tad rude,” murmured Lily, slightly apprehensively.

“Ahh, he won’t care.  Tell me a bit about how, when and where I can find myself a quidditch team,” said James like an excited little boy who has just been told that he will have a very large birthday cake that he will get to eat all by himself at the pace he wishes.

Maybe Death wasn’t going to be that different from Life.

 

* * *

 

It took James a moment to realize where he was when he woke up, for the bed and the lighting of the room in which he was lying were completely unfamiliar.  The redhead lying next to him was, but that was about it.  He climbed out of the bed, quietly left the room, descended the staircase and realized that it was not, in fact, a dream.  He pinched himself.  Yep.  There was the pain.

Great.

So he was dead.

He went into the kitchen, debated over eating a banana or a donut (he picked the donut) then went into the living room. 

He turned on The Wall, as he had been shown yesterday by a nutjob blonde girl, and scribbled _Sirius Black_ in the search bar.  Apparently, The Wall was having difficulty reading his handwriting, because it asked him to write the name again.  He complied.  The Wall then told him that no such person existed.  James tried again, this time writing as clearly as he could for he refused to believe that his best friend had never existed, much less died.  In all likelihood, James’ handwriting was as much an illegible mess as it ever had been and The Wall was telling him so as opposed to showing him Sirius, who was probably at this very moment sitting in the flat he had bought long before (oh, all right, only a few years back) in London, eating crumpets and chattering with Moony.

 

_S            I            R            I            U            S                        B            L            A            C            K_

 

 _Oh.  Well why didn’t you write that clearly before?_ Wrote back the wall.  James had no greater desire than to kick it, but didn’t because he was much too shocked with what he was seeing:

Sirius looked like he was in desperate need of a bath, a few good meals and a comfortable bed (he was currently asleep on a pile of straw), none of which he was likely to get any time soon, because he was clearly in Azkaban. 

Ironically, visible from his cell, was his Death Eater cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.   _How on earth did she get in there?_   wondered James.

Sirius was moaning and shivering in his sleep.  James’ stomach lurched.

Sirius, sat bolt upright and cried out: “No!  No!  It was Peter!  I’ll kill him!”  It took him a moment to realize where he was, just as James had earlier that morning.  Then he curled back up.  For a moment James thought that he might cry.  But no, he was transforming himself into a dog.

“Padfoot,” James whispered sadly.

He reopened the search bar, unable to watch this anymore. 

 

_R            E            M            U            S                        L            U            P            I            N_

 

He scrawled.

 _Much better,_ replied The Wall.

“Shut up,” snapped James.

Remus was sitting in a rather shabby looking flat.  James recognized it as the one he and Remus had shared just after school.  Sirius’ was too small for more than one person—or at least more than one person who wanted to bring ladies back to it at night—and Remus needed someone to share the rent.  James hadn’t spent too long there, just long enough for the little old landlady, a darling muggle grandmother who often offered Remus cookies because he was “such a nice boy and looked ever so thin and sickly” consented to sell them the apartment for a minimal price.  This of course had nothing to do with the timing of James asking Lily to marry him, thus exponentially growing his need for his own place. 

But he was getting sidetracked with thoughts that made him sad.

Remus was looking very shabby, as was his apartment, and he was looking through the newspaper.  It was a muggle one, judging by the state of the advirtisements.  James looked as closely as he could.

He was looking for employment.  And he didn’t have to write on a muggle application that you turned into a great furry monster once a month.  He could say he was often in bad health, that was all.

But this meant that he had lost his job at the bookstore, which had seemed like such a good match for him.

James sighed. 

What must poor Remus be going through?  All of his friends had evaporated in a night. 

Which reminded him…

 

_P            E            T            E            R                        P            E            T            T            I            G            R            E            W_

 

 _Now you are getting it_ , wrote The Wall.

“SHUT IT!” yelled James.

“Are you talking to walls again, darling?”  came a tired voice.  He glanced over his shoulder at Lily, who was wearing a bathrobe. 

“Yes,” he sighed.  “The Wall was making fun of my handwriting.”

 _It was bugging me_ , wrote The Wall.

“Well, I’ve been doing that for years.”

“Yes, but you aren’t a wall.  Walls have no right to make fun of me,” said James, who was in a very bad temper (even worse of one now that he saw a rat running through a field).

“So, he’s still on the loose, is he?” said Lily darkly.

“Yep.  And Sirius is in prison and Remus is unemployed.”

“Yes, I saw Remus.  I thought that old Mr. Blott would keep him around a little while longer at least.”

“You and me both.”

James threw himself onto the couch.  

Lily approached the wall, summoned the search bar and wrote _Harry James Potter_ in neat cursive into it.

The Wall responded almost instantly by showing an image of their son. 

“How come it doesn’t make fun of you and shows the image so fast?” demanded James.

“I don’t know.  Maybe it likes me.”

James sighed and watched his son, who was currently being poked with a spoon by what looked like either a very attractive piglet or a very unattractive boy.

“Petunia should watch out, or else her son will reach the size and weight of a young killer whale,” murmured Lily.

“It’s not _her_ son you should be worried about,” said James darkly as Petunia appeared, feeding her son about four times the food that she had given Harry.

“Oh, James, how on earth do you now that?  Look at him.  He’s part _Vernon_.”


	2. If Only He Could Live Up To Their Expectations

“Do you ever get the impression that our son is not the sharpest knife in the drawer?  OW!”  I suppose it was not your average Saturday afternoon at 210 Rue Colbert.  Why?  Well, James Potter (who was usually very proud of his son’s intelligence) had just questioned it. 

The response from his wife was pretty normal though: a slap upside the head.

“You had better justify yourself in about three seconds or I swear you will be sleeping on the couch for the next twelve Life-years.”

“Well, he can certainly do math, and stuff, but I’m sitting here, watching as he vanishes the glass of a snake-cage and he has yet to figure out that he is a wizard.”

“Here is the thing Jimmyboy.”

“Do not call me Jimmyboy.”

“Here is the thing, Jimmyboy, if you are living in a muggle community, you don’t think right off the bat ‘here now, something strange has happened.  I must be a wizard.’  You are more likely to blame it on something else.”

“Yeah, but he seems like he’s got an imagination OW!  Let me finish the damn sentence, will you?   He seems like he’s got an imagination, so I am simply curious as to why he has not used it yet.  He also has deductive skills and—”  But James saw the expression on his wife’s face and decided to let it drop.

In truth, he had been having a rather rough time with this whole death thing.  He had been there for only a few Death-months and for the life of him he still couldn’t figure out what was so great about it.  Firstly, he had to watch what became of his two best friends (one to Azkaban for no apparent reason, the other to unemployment for no apparent reason); secondly, he had to watch his son deal with the most annoying and twisted of all muggle guardians possible; thirdly, he had to be the first witness of his wife’s suffering at her sister’s spite and bitterness; and lastly, he was forced to watch the muggle world for hours on end and the only thing interesting about that was his son, who was currently being rather dense.  He could not wait for the moment that this boy went to Hogwarts.  At least then, he could reminisce at great lengths about the tomfoolery he had gotten up to back in the good old days, even if Lily didn’t necessarily approve (or rather, even if Lily smacked him upside the head with every sentence he uttered).

On the bright side, they had found some really rather spectacular friends.  First of all, there were all the old order members (Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Marlene McKinnon, Caradoc Dearborn and Benjy Fenwick were the ones to whom the Potters felt closer) who had copped it before them (which was a sufficiently large number to have a constant social flow), some strange historical people (most of whom were acquaintances of Lily, because James had absolutely no idea who Galileo was, much less that weird, French, schizophrenic, girl Jeanne), the people on James’ team in the DQL (Death Quidditch League (over 3 million teams, over 200 languages and a lot of cheating)) and, of course Ariana Dumbledore.

Lily adored Ariana Dumbledore.  James found her rather annoying.  For example, there were times when he desired nothing more in the world than to have sex with his beautiful wife and he found that, just as he was easing her into a slightly willing mood, Ariana would show up and destroy his plans.  Even more annoying was that she knew it too: she said it was amusing ruining the moods of her friends and she suspected it had something to do with deeply rooted psychological troubles that came from having to listen to her parents going at it rather often.

James liked Ariana very much when she wasn’t preventing his sex-life, though.  She was rather what he had always imagined a little sister to be like, or, at least, what _his_ little sister would be like: rather scatterbrained, but somewhat brilliant. 

He decided, judging from Lily’s mood, that it would probably be better to go off and practice with the Wingèd Williams, his Quidditch team.  It wasn’t necessarily the best quidditch team in the DQL (in fact, it was really rather awful), but he enjoyed practicing and playing with them immensely.  It also helped that Lily liked his teammates.  Why?  Well, they were somewhat dorky in a way that Lily approved of, in that, their team mascot was William Shakespeare and all their team cheers consisted of the Bard’s most famous quotes, such as “To be or not to be.  Good Question.  You should all just give up because the Winged Willies are going to kick your ass” or “Brutus is an honorable man and he just scored on you.”

Lily liked all the Shakespeare references.  James preferred the fact that all his teammates were serious enough about quidditch to actually be rather good, considering they were playing against every other quidditch player since the dawn of time, and also rather amusing as they themselves recited famous monologues during practice.  He himself was not that well acquainted with these monologues, but they were still fun to listen to, especially when someone misspoke and the entire team corrected them at once.  For future reference, his quidditch team consists of the following:

Cordelia Bath – Seeker

Iago Vandertrampp – Keeper

Rome E. Oh – Beater (Rome is, by the way, a female)

Julie Eht – Beater

Sebastian Bennett – Chaser

Brutus T. Firefly – Chaser

James Potter – Chaser

He got up, announced that he was off to practice, flew for a few hours, went to the Pub on Wienerschnizel Road for a pint, and then returned to the house on Rue Colbert. 

He found Lily and Ariana eating dinner and watching the screen.  “What did I miss?” asked James.

“Rather a lot, actually.  He’s on the Hogwarts Express.”  Said Lily, offering him a bite of her sandwich.  “You would have missed more, except Ariana put it on pause because she thought we should wait for you.  I was all for it, except when you went to the Pub and then I figured that you deserved to miss a bit.”

“What?  Already?  How on earth did the Dursleys take his acceptance?  I could have sworn that they would chuck him in prison instead of letting him go to school.  And I had no idea you could pause that thing.”

“Well, they tried running, and then Hagrid tried to turn Dudley into a pig and that kind of settled the matter.  And it’s a new majigger.”

“Wait-a-mo, Hagrid can’t do magic.  And that’s really handy.”

“Yes he can.  And yes it is.”

“Who’s the ginger?” asked James, looking at the boy who was now explaining quidditch (good man!) to his son.

“Ron Weasley.”

“Why does the name Weasley mean something to me?”

“Well, he is Gideon’s nephew.”

“That would do it.”

There was a pause as they watched the boy on The Wall.  He looked extremely apprehensive.  James had no idea why.  He would love Hogwarts.  Who couldn’t love Hogwarts?  And as for this Ron Weasley character, he seemed to know what he was talking about and seemed perfectly nice, and hadn’t he, James, met the best mate he had ever had on the Hogwarts Express?

He wondered briefly how Sirius was doing, but knew better than to change the channel.  Firstly, it would depress him to see his best friend in a prison cell for something he didn’t do, surrounded by Death Eaters and Dementors, slowly becoming mad, having to refuge himself in his animal form to keep himself sane a little while longer.  Secondly, if he tried, Lily would hit him upside the head and tell him that if they changed the channel, they would miss Harry’s sorting/going through puberty/anything slightly monumental in his life. 

Sometimes James wondered if he were on the receiving end of an abusive relationship.  But every time he began thinking about that, Lily would snuggle up next to him and be sweeter and more gentle than usual (like now, when she was letting him finish her sandwich and cozying up to him with her beautiful red head on his shoulder).  Also, he knew it was ridiculous, since Lily evidently loved him and whenever she hit him, it was a sign of her physical attraction to him.  Or at least, that was what he told himself.  He was never actually sure if it was true.  Maybe he was slightly masochistic and got some kind of freaky enjoyment from her light smacks.  Maybe.

“Why is this weird blond kid who looks freakily like Lucius Malfoy talking to our son?”

“Because they met at Madam Malkin’s.  And it is Lucius Malfoy’s son.  Draco,” said Ariana, who was eyeing him keenly.

“Would it be redundant to restate my question?” asked James, finishing off the sandwich.

Lily ignored him, and Ariana got up to find a snack, muttering something about a “massive case of Flimbert”.

They watched as a rat bit the hand of one of the brutish looking sidekicks of the Malfoy boy ( _poor bloke has a pet rat_ , thought James), and then watched as Harry and Ron fell back into conversation.

James watched the scene continue, even though he was only half paying attention, as he was trying to remember exactly what Julie had recited incorrectly during the practice.  He gave up at the sight of a boy entering the compartment.  This boy was different than the Malfoy boy in quite a noticeable way in that, instead of looking like a death eater, he looked like a combination of two of the Potters’ old friends from the Order of the Phoenix.

His name was Neville Longbottom.  Lily made noises about how it was awful what had happened to Frank and Alice.  James made noises of ascent.  He (Neville) was looking for a toad ( _even worse.  Good lord, what is happening to the state of Hogwarts pets?_ he thought)

“What kind of pet does Harry have?” asked James, trying to sound off-handed.

“Hagrid bought him an Owl for his birthday.  Don’t worry.  He doesn’t have a rat or a toad,” replied Lily.

Damn.  He had forgotten how good she was at seeing through his ruses.

“I don’t care what kind of pet he has, but I…All right, I do.  I mean really, what is the deal with a rat?  Can’t his family get him a proper pet?”

“They don’t have very much money, James.  And Scabbers is a hand-me-down as it is, used to belong to one of Ron’s older brothers.  Been in the family for ages.”

“Well, it’s a fat, ugly rat.  Why anyone would want a rat is beyond me.  Rat’s are stupid, and they eat everything and they carried the bubonic plague on their backs for a rather long time back in the thirteen hundreds.”

(“And the friend of yours that turned into a rat ended up ratting us out to Voldemort” muttered Lily under her breath.  James ignored her and continued) 

“I am very glad that Harry has an owl.  How come we can’t see this owl?”

“Because he put her on the shelf opposite him, which would make her directly above our range of vision, now keep quiet.”

A bushy haired girl had entered. 

“She seems bossy.” Said James, as the girl began talking very quickly.

“Yes, well…” murmured Lily.

 

* * *

 

“Lily my love, who was the dictator of Portugal?” asked James, looking up from his crossword puzzle.  He was nearly finished with it. 

“Salazar, and I must say, I am surprised you are not watching like a hawk.” Lily said, gesturing towards The Wall. 

James filled in the squares and tossed the puzzle aside.  “Well, I don’t have to pay attention during the lessons, do I?  I mean, I didn’t pay attention when I was alive and at school, why would being dead and at home change anything?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. 

In truth, he found that being back at Hogwarts was not as exciting as he thought it would be.  His kid really did take after his mother: he didn’t do too much to break the rules.  He just followed the rest of his year around.  He was perfectly likeable, that was for sure.  But he was just …boring.  And James did not feel like watching him in Defense Against the Dark Arts if he was not at the very least going to shoot spitballs at that ridiculous turban on Professor Quirrel’s head. 

He certainly enjoyed watching bits of the whole school thing.  It was nice when Harry had gotten into Gryffindor, it was nice when he had begun making friends, it was nice that he was, for the first time in his life, able to completely enjoy himself.  But he hadn’t even had his flying lessons yet, and he was, for all intensive purposes, just your normal firstie.

James sighed.  Lily was ironing again.  She had recently determined that ironing was the best way to pass the time when watching The Wall.  It was very calming, and she could do it and watch.  This meant, of course, that James’ underwear was now ironed and smooth.  He didn’t have too many complaints about that, he just found it…odd.

Harry’s first week was winding down.  Lily had promised that, after the first week, they would be able to skim over some of the classes.  Thank goodness.  Harry was entering his final class, Potions, with Professor Snape.

Lily looked up and stopped ironing.  James watched intently.

They watched silently.  James knew exactly what Lily was thinking.  _Please, let him be nice to my son._

Well…that didn’t happen. 

“You no good, filthy bugger!” James said loudly at the man who now covered The Wall.  “He’s just a kid, you wanker.  Leave him be.”

Lily said nothing, but shook her head sadly.

“Something tells me our son is not going to like potions very much,” James said, trying to shift Lily’s attention. 

“No, I think not.  It’s a pity.  I doubt he would have been bad at it.”

“Yeah, well, he’s your son, isn’t he?  He’s probably a potions maven, just like his mum.”

“Oh, hush you.  Don’t sound so bitter.”

“I’m not bitter!”

“It was the one class that I didn’t have to try in to be better than you.  So just hush your mouth, all right.”

“You didn’t have to try in plenty of classes.  You just did.  And I still can’t, for the life of me, fathom why.”

“Because I was a serious student, perhaps, and not some silly slacker like you?”

“That had some lovely sibilance there.  ‘Some silly slacker.’”

“I can’t decide whether to be annoyed at you, or whether to be proud of you for knowing what sibilance is.”

“You pick up some poetic devices, when you hang around with Shakespeare nuts all the time.”

The doorbell rang. 

“It’s open,” called Lily.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. J. Potter of 210 rue Colbert.”

“Benjy!  How lovely to see you!” James said, standing and shaking his head.

Benjy Fenwick was a very large man, nearly seven feet tall, in his mid sixties.  He was thin as a lamppost, and his voice was very deep and grumbly.  He had a long, thin face that looked rather like a horse’s and he was very quick, when he wanted to be. 

“Hope you don’t mind that I popped over.  Things were getting mad at home.  Do you remember Silas?”

“No, remind me who he is,” said James.

“He’s my stepson.  Died of cancer when he was seven, poor kid.  Well, he has decided that he wants to be a superhero and nothing I say or do can dissuade him.  Fanny is trying to convince him that things would be so much easier if he wanted to play at superheroes, rather than actually becoming one, but he won’t listen to her because she is not his real mum, so she goes off and cries and makes me feel guilty for having remarried after she died.  And, well, you know how that goes.  I got it bad enough in life from our kids, I don’t want to deal with it in death.”

“Well, have a seat.  We are spying on our son,” said James, gesturing to a rocking chair. 

“Ahh.  How old is he now?” asked Benjy, pulling the chair around slightly so that he had better access to The Wall.

“He’s eleven now,” said Lily, proudly. 

“Good age, good age.  Has a good grasp on reality.  Won’t bug you too much if he dies and is dumped on your doorstep.”

“Thanks, Benjy,” Lily muttered dryly.

“I’m just calling it like I see—Hey, is he the one on the broomstick?  He flies quite well, doesn’t he.” 

Lily and James turned quickly.  The Wall had made one of its uncomfortable forward leaps while Lily’s back was turned.  She normally kept it from doing this, wanting to keep a close eye on her son’s progression, but it seemed to have skipped forward a few weeks during the brief seconds she had spoken to Benjy.

She muttered in annoyance and went to send the scene back to where it had been, but James stopped her.

“Are you mental?  This is the most exciting bit I’ve seen in a while.  I am not going back to classes.” 

Indeed, his son was sitting on a broomstick.  A school broomstick, James noted.  The Malfoy boy was also floating in midair, on a broom.

Ariana muttered something about the Flimbert Society. 

James ignored her.

“Give it here,” Harry called, “or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

“Oh yeah?” said Malfoy, trying to sneer but looking worried.

Harry shot through the air towards him.  Malfoy got out of the way only barely.  James whooped.  “Atta boy, Harry!”

“He shouldn’t be up there without a teacher.  He doesn’t know how to fly yet."

“Yes he does.  Look at him go.  He’s a natural, just like me.”  James was glowing with pride.  He knew there had to be some of his genetics in his son, and, well, they had finally appeared.  He was brilliant, and it was definitely something he had not gotten from Lily.  She was miserable at flying.  Utterly hopeless, because she was terrified of heights.  It was a legitimate reason, James supposed, and so he had never mocked her for it.

Malfoy threw a glass ball and Harry dove for it.

“James, if our son does not survive this dive, I am blaming you,” said Lily darkly.

“Why?”  James cried indignantly, pausing The Wall, mid-dive.

“Because he has never been on a broom before, and now he thinks he can dive safely.  If he can’t I will blame the appearance of his stupid-gene on you.”

“And you won’t blame the inability to fly on yourself?”

“No.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Well, I tend not to be when I am worried about my son.”  She unpaused The Wall.

Harry pulled out of the dive most spectacularly.

“And what do you have to say now?”  James said.  How could he resist not rubbing it in Lily’s face that their son was brilliant at flying.  With all luck, he would make the quidditch team next year when he was allowed a broom.  He would make an excellent seeker.  Just the build and everything.

“That our son looks as though he is going to get kicked out because of your stupid gene.”  Lily said, pointing at The Wall. 

McGonagall was leading Harry inside, looking very stern.

James deflated…only slightly.

“She won’t kick him out, Lily,” said Benjy.

“How on earth would you know that, Benjy?” Lily demanded.

“Because Minnie used to play on the Gryffindor team with me.  She can appreciate a good flyer when she sees one.  And if she can’t, she and I will have a little conversation when she dies."

“I forgot you were at school with her.”

“Yep.  She was a few years ahead of me, sure.  She was my first crush.”  James looked astonished.  “She was quite the looker when she was younger.  Still has traces of it.  Surely you must have noticed?  Anyway, that Scottish accent got me.  It was wonderful.  Truly, truly wonderful.”  A faint smile played across his lips. 

James only then remembered that both of Benjy’s two wives, Fanny and Mary, came from Scotland.  Suddenly, everything seemed to line up.

“Wood, I’ve found you a seeker,” McGonagall was saying. 

James whooped again.

“Oh, shut up,” muttered Lily.

“I will not shut up.  That must be Alvin’s kid.  Looks just like him.”

“Alvin?”

“He was head Chaser when I was in second year.  He was in seventh, and it was his last year on the team.  Quite nice.  Good player.  Wonder what position his son plays.”

James was overjoyed.  His son had broken Hogwarts record.  He was on a house team, and he had barely been there a month.  He had not felt this happy in a while.

“I’m getting a beer to celebrate.  Do any of you want one,” he stood up and passed into the kitchen.

Lily shook her head, while Benjy said “Gladly!” and Ariana said “I wouldn’t mind a butterbeer if you have one.”

While James was in the kitchen, he did a brief dance.  Well…not that brief.  It was his quidditch victory dance, and it took about three minutes to do fully.  He had last performed this dance in the common room to raucous applause, holding the quidditch cup high above his head.  It was somewhere between a hornpipe, a jig, and a drunken stumble.

“To my son, the quidditch player!” said James returning to the living room, handing the drinks to his friends, and raising his own bottle.

“You may want to pause, given that he may just get kicked out of school again.”

James looked up at The Wall.

His son was face to face with a three-headed dog.

“Oh bugger,” he said.


	3. Leading Deaths of Quiet Desperation

Now that I have sated your appetite, having spoken at length about Lily Evans Potter and James Archibald Potter, allow me to introduce myself.

I am the narrator.

It is lovely to make your acquaintance.

Now, that is about as much information as I am at liberty to give about myself, lets just say that I am an omniscient third person narrator, who addresses the reader directly from time to time.  Nothing to be worried about, nothing at all.  I’m just telling you how things are.

In any case, while I am sure that you all love Lily and James (let’s face it, they are very wonderful people who fully merit a nice house in Death), sometimes I like to stretch my creative wings and dive into the perspective of different characters. 

Don’t you worry, the story will still most certainly be about Lily and James.  They will be the central figures, and most of the sequences of events will surround their lovely home at 210 rue Colbert.  And don’t worry, sometimes I will, you can be sure, slip back into their narrative.

But for now, allow me to continue the story from a different angle.

Yours sincerely,

The Narrator

 

* * *

 

Benjy Fenwick sipped his butterbeer benignly and looked up at the screen.  His friend, the young James Potter, gawked at the beast with which young Harry Potter now found himself face to face.

“Oh bugger,” said James.

“Oh, lighten up,” said Benjy, smiling ever so slightly, “By the looks of it, he will snuff it quite quickly, and then you will have your son again.  And, as I say, it could be worse.  He could be like Silas.

“Yes, but Benjamin, he is not like Silas, and I don’t want my son to die,” said Lily.  If Benjy had to pick a Potter, he would not pick Lily.  He liked her, certainly, but she was far too serious about things.  Her humor came out of complete seriousness.  She was rarely whimsical and took life to gravely—which made her transition into Death rather difficult, both for herself and for Benjy, who greatly enjoyed the company of her husband.

“Well, he doesn’t appear to either,” Benjy pointed back to the screen.  Harry Potter was now sprinting down a hallway, ahead of three other young students.  They were running as hard and as fast as they could away from the three-headed dog.

Lily seemed to relax, ever so slightly. 

A message popped up through the toaster.  James reached for it.

“It’s for you, Benjy,” he said, handing it to the older man.

The note read _come home now_.  Benjy sighed. 

“Well, I must away.  I will stop by again soon.”  He shook James’ hand, clapped Ariana on the shoulder, and kissed Lily on the cheek.  He then left 210 rue Colbert.

 

* * *

 

Silas was screaming again.  Fanny was crying again.  His mother was shouting again.  And, of course, without fail, Betsy the poodle was barking again.

Never a moment’s peace.  No rest for the weary.  The only rest he ever found was when Benjamin Gerald Fenwick was away from home, at his friends’ houses.  Then, he could calm himself, and prepare, once more, to return into the tumult that was the home of his extended family at 345 West River Lane, F, 3856220.

Benjy sighed into his bowl of soup.  He had been home for one DeathDay already, and he was quite stiff.  He loved his family, but Death would be much more easy to handle when Mary died and came to take her highly vocal son in order.  Or, if Sebastian, his eldest son, died and then he had someone with whom he might share the brunt of Fanny’s hysteria.

“What is it now, Benjamin?” cried Fanny, having heard her husband’s sigh.

“It’s nothing my dear.”

“Benjy!  I want to fly today!” screamed Silas.

“I know you do, anyone would.  It’s a lovely day out.  Why don’t I take you to a quidditch—“

“No!  I want to fly without a broom!” screamed the seven-year-old boy. 

“If you can’t quiet down this very minute boy, I will not be responsible for my actions,” boomed his own dear mother.  For a woman well into her second century o—well, he supposed life—she did have a loud voice.

Benjy had been surprised that his mother had not chosen to return to her youth in Death.  Many people did.  Benjy had de-aged himself a few years, so that his face was a little less wrinkled and his back didn’t hurt when he bent over.  Of course, his mother had always been one who enjoyed domineering, and he was quite sure that this was some form of domination.  Everyone had to be deferential to the little old lady with lungs the size of the pyramids of Giza.

Most unfortunately, one could not age themselves beyond the hour of their death, so Silas was stuck as a very stubborn seven-year-old.  Benjy was, as was his right, petitioning Maya to let him age the boy a few years, so that he would stop driving Fanny mental.

A letter popped out of the Toaster.

He reached for it and read _Troll at Hogwarts.  Fancy a beer? James._

He looked up at his very loud family, and said “I must dash.  Emergency.  James’ son is in mortal peril and they need moral support,” and before he had even finished his explanation, he was out the door and sprinting to the nearest elevator that would take him from F to P.

He opened the perpetually unlocked door at 210 rue Colbert to find the young Potter boy dangling off the back of a troll with his wand stuck up its nose.

“Well, there’s something you don’t see every day,” he said.  James handed him a bottle from where he was sitting on the couch, Fabian Prewett (or was it Gideon? Benjy could never tell them apart) was sitting next to Ariana Dumbledore.  Lily was, as always, ironing.

He wondered vaguely what she had to iron?  It wasn’t like they had to do household chores in Death. 

“I’m beginning to think with our son, you might,” said Lily, rather darkly as she paused her ironing to come over and give Benjy a quick peck on the cheek.  “Thank you for coming over, Benjy.  It is lovely to see you.  How are you?”

“I am doing quite well, all things considered.  Nothing too new going on at home.”

“Our son does seem to enjoy little adventures, doesn’t he?” James said, pride dripping out of every syllable he uttered.  He was still in his quidditch robes, clearly just having played a game.

“Did you win?” Benjy asked, gesturing to his friend’s robes.

“We were clobbered.  But I got a few good goals in.”

“Who were you playing?”

“Some Chinese team whose name I won’t even try to pronounce.  They’ve been playing for centuries, so, all things considered, we did rather well.  Wait a minute, what happened?” he asked loudly, looking over at the screen.  Minnie McGonagall was scolding Harry and Ron Weasley, Professor Quirrell was sitting on a toilet, and Snape was examining a troll, who had been knocked unconscious.

“Well, if you weren’t such a self-centered git who couldn’t help bragging about quidditch at any given opportunity, you would have seen my nephew save your son’s life,” said the Prewett Twin.

“Gideon, I doubt very much that is the whole truth,” said James pompously, looking at his wife.  She said nothing.  She was always rather tight lipped when Harry was in danger, whether it be danger that his life would end or danger that he would get thrown into detention. “Damn it,” muttered James.

“You did walk into that one,” said Benjy.

“See?  We Prewetts are quite handy to have around,” smiled Gideon.

“Well, Gideon, I would agree with you if it hadn’t been your fault that I was first put under the cruciatus curse when I was eighteen.”

“That was your own sheer stupidity, my good man,” Gideon needled.

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” said James loudly.

“Boys.  If this continues, I will have to ground you both,” said Benjy.  Lily laughed.  James and Gideon looked at him oddly.  “You both seem to have forgotten that I have—had—grown sons and I know exactly what should be done when they go head to head.  Now.  Calm down.  And let’s watch the nice Wall, shall we?”

Both young men grew quiet, watching as Harry and Ron returned to the Gryffindor common room, where they met Hermione Granger.

Benjy smiled forlornly to himself.  How quickly they had listened to him.  What wouldn’t he give to have that kind of authority in his own home. 

A letter popped out of the Toaster.  James reached for it.  He read aloud, “ _’Dear Jimmy and Lily, It was truly wonderful to have dinner with you last night.  It is so nice to see how quickly you are growing used to life in Death, as it were.  We have a weekly game night on Thursday evenings, and we would love it if you would join us.  We would have asked sooner, but you have been so monopolized by Lily’s parents that we felt we should leave you be, even though Jimmy is our only son and we love him dearly.  In any event, we would love for you to come on Thursday, promptly at 6 pm.  Lots of Love, Mum_ ’ Well that sounds nice, doesn’t it?” James asked his wife.

“Game night at your parents house.  How excellent!”

“The sarcasm was utterly unnecessary there, you know.  My parents like you a lot more than your parents like me, and I’ve had to spend way more time than I would like listening to your father talking about what it was like to fly planes in the war, even though I don’t know what a plane is, and have no idea what war he is talking about,” James ranted indignantly.  “It’s really nice, you know, that your parents think that I am not good enough for you and take any given opportunity to tell the both of us that.  At least, when my parents tell me that you are too good for me, I know that they love me anyway. And, it’s not as though—Ooh!  Quidditch!”

Indeed, dear reader, ooh! Quidditch! For it was Harry's first match at Hogwarts. I won't give you a play-by-play. You can find that quite nicely in J.K. Rowling's first installment in the Harry Potter Series (the chapter is, I believe, titled "Quidditch"). Benjy, James, Ariana and Gideon all watched avidly, shouting and heckling the living teenagers as if they themselves were in the stands at Hogwarts. Lily continued ironing quietly, glad of the distraction that had ended James' rant. She really did enjoy spending time with his parents. But the idea of leaving The Wall unattended for an entire evening was more than she could handle. Going out to dinner, spending an afternoon walking about, sleeping, eating, those were all activities she could stomach, for she could always tell around what time they would end. Game night at the Potters', on the other hand…well…she was nervous.

But she knew James would like it, and she probably would too.  She was just nervous.  The idea of leaving her boy alone for half a second was a little beyond her capability right now, given that, in her mind, he was still the giggling little baby whom James had been entertaining with bubbles the night that they had died.

The Wall paused, right as Hagrid was pouring tea into Harry’s mug after the match.

A notice flashed across it. 

_Would Benjamin Gerald Fenwick of 345 West River Lane kindly send a toastmail to the Front Desk giving his location?_

_Maya Hedge_

_Omnipotent Gatekeeper of Death_

Benjy dove for a pad of paper and wrote down the Potters’ address.  He wondered what on earth this could be about, and was also rather nervous.  He had never spoken with Maya before.  Gideon had though, as he was now telling the Lily and James.

“She just kind of stares you down and you can’t lie to her because she knows everything.  Gives me the creeps.  And those red, albino eyes don’t help very much either.  Remind me of Voldemort in the least pleasant of ways.” 

Benjy sent the message.  Almost instantaneously, a letter popped out of the toaster.

 _Stay where you are_ was written in very neat formal writing, the same writing that was now on The Wall…or had been on The Wall a moment ago.  It had reverted back to the present, or rather, what had been the present, for, as unpredictable as ever, The Wall had shot forward a month or so.

Christmas was in the air at Hogwarts. 

“Damn this thing,” muttered Lily, “no matter how hard I try, it just doesn’t let me choose when to skip, now does it?”

“Maybe it doesn’t like you more than me,” suggested James, who was still smarting over The Wall’s incapacity to read his handwriting.

“Or perhaps, it senses that your spying on your son is bordering on a mania and it thinks it is helping you get over your problem,” said Gideon.

Lily contemplated throwing the iron at Gideon.

“Or maybe it’s a system glitch,” said Ariana.

Lily grumbled and said to The Wall “Would you mind going back to where you were before the notice?”

The Wall wrote back quite quickly.  _But nothing happens between the quidditch match and Christmas.  Honest.  He just gets into a few fights with Malfoy that never come to blows and he and his mates spend a lot of time in the library._

 _“_ I don’t care, I would like to be the judge of that,” said Lily.

 _I’m not kidding.  Every ounce of free time in the library._   The Wall wrote, adamantly

James groaned.  “He really is your kid, isn’t he?”

Lily ignored him and said “Do you swear that is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you god?” 

_You do realize I am a Wall without any religious faith, right?_

_“_ Do you swear?”

_Fine.  Yes.  God, woman._

James snorted.  Maybe The Wall wasn’t that bad, after all.

“Will you look at this?  I’ve got some presents!” Harry was saying.

“What did you expect, turnips?” said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry’s.

James smiled fondly.  He liked Ron.  He was quite a nice bloke, really, with a good sense of humor. 

Lily had returned, still rather annoyed, to her ironing, and she thought sadly that Harry’s pile would be considerably larger if she and James had been alive.  She sighed. 

James sensed what she was sighing about and said nothing.  He would have, if they had been alone, gone to stand behind her, would have wrapped his arms around her waist, would have kissed her lightly on the cheek and murmured, “it’s ok, love, it’s ok” but instead, he watched her closely for a moment or two, before looking back at The Wall.

“Hey!  That’s my cloak!” he said loudly.

“What?” said Lily, looking at him.

“My invisibility cloak.  The one I leant to Dumbledore right before we died.  He must have given it to Harry for Christmas.”

“I am not entirely sure that I trust any of your offspring with an invisibility cloak.  Nor am I sure that I trust you with an invisibility cloak,” said Benjy.

“Yeah, well, I was unstoppable with it.  Those were the days.  Used to sneak off to the kitchens whenever I was hungry.  Middle of then night, middle of the day, whenever.  The chocolate éclairs were mine.  It was wonderful.  Lord do I miss House Elf food.”

“Oh, going and getting food is something anyone would do with a cloak like that,” said Benjy, “I’m trying to say that I am sure that you used it for more sinister purposes.”

“Like what,” said James, rather indignantly, “What kind of sinister purposes might I have?  I was quite a good person you know, I never used that cloak, the cloak given me by my father—“

“You mean stolen from your father,” muttered Lily, who was listening, for all that she was watching a furious snowball fight raging between her son and his redheaded friends.

“The cloak that had been in my family for generations,” continued James, loudly, “for anything that might be deemed sinister.”

“Except to sneak off once a month to break wizard law and run around with a werewolf,” muttered Lily.

“You know Lily, you are undermining me quite a bit, and I resent it.”

“You’ll get over it.”

There was a knock on the door.

“It’s open,” called Lily.

“So it is,” came a voice that was vaguely familiar to all of them.  James and Benjy, whose backs were to the door, twisted around in their seats.  Lily turned around.

Maya was standing in the door.

She looked stern.


	4. He Survived

Whenever Gideon Prewett saw Maya, the Omnipotent Gatekeeper of Death, whether in person or on The Wall, he had the strange feeling that his entire existence was shriveling up into the fetal position.  He was terrified of that woman, and her creepy red eyes, and her inability to smile at the stupidest joke.  Of course, he had only ever seen Maya on duty, so he had no clue that she was really a charming and kindly grandmother, who had 18 grandchildren whom she loved dearly.

He only ever saw the terrifying woman who was now staring sternly at his dear friend Benjy. 

“Benjamin Fenwick,” she said in a voice that sounded quite deep.  She had an accent that sounded vaguely eastern European, but Gideon could not place precisely where it was from.  “I have reviewed your petition and I am afraid to say that there is no way we can age your stepson, Silas, to a slightly more mature eleven years old.  It cannot be done.  I apologize.”

“There really isn’t anything you can do?  I mean, he is driving my poor wife and mother insane.”

“No, I am sorry.  If we allowed Silas to age, we would have to allow any child to age, and children who die young do not have the maturity to handle life as an adult.  No matter what age you appear to be in Death, you always have the same maturity level, so you would really just have a larger seven-year-old on your hands.  If it were easier, I would allow it, but we have had children who die young who mature themselves and so you have a twenty-six year old man sitting in the middle of the sidewalk screaming for ice cream because he literally has the maturity of a four year old.  No, no, I’m afraid it can’t be done.”

Benjy sighed.  Gideon tried to look sympathetic.  Ariana, who was sitting next to Gideon, murmured “Really, who would _want_ to grow up here.  Childhood is so much better…”

“What I _can do_ ,” said Maya, “is transfer him to a different house for partial custody.  When his mother dies, he will move back into your house again because that will be her final destination, but until then, he can stay with his maternal grandparents.  They should be able to handle him.  Frankly, he should have gone there first until your second wife died, but that was a day when Henry was in charge…” Maya’s voice tapered off.  She was not one to publicly critique her husband.  True, if she was alone with him, or in front of any of their offspring, she wasted no time to do so, because he was a good man and should not be left to make stupid errors.  But she was loath to do so before peons.  

“Thank you very much, Maya.  That really is quite kind of you,” said Benjy sincerely.

“Now, while I am here,” Maya turned to James, who immediately put his beer bottle down on the coffee table, next to the toaster, “I would like to ask you the following question.  We try, for the most part, to accommodate every man, woman and child in Death as comfortably as possible by placing them with their families, or those whom they consider to be family.  For example, we gave you and Lily,” she glanced over at Lily who was now watching The Wall again, “your own home, because we found it inappropriate to send a married couple to live with one of the spouse’s parents.  But, sometimes, they have unwed friends who might not wish to return to their parents, and so I would simply like to check that the following will be welcome in your house, should their dating pattern continue,” she pulled from her pocket a file, and began to flick through it, rather impatiently. 

“Sirius Orion Black,” she read off of the file.

“Of course!” said James instantly.

“Remus John Lupin,” she continued.

“Naturally,” said Lily, who was now watching as Harry and Ron read from a book about a man called Nicholas Flamel.

“And…That’s it.  I believe.  Yes,” she turned to go, “Oh, and Mr. Potter?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“In the future, I recommend that you put the jelly onto your toast after you have toasted it.  It causes a leak in the system you see.  I had to recalibrate my T base 47 files for three days.  Have you never made yourself toast before?” and she left.

“Have I ever made myself toast before?  What kind of question is that? I am insulted,” James spluttered indignantly.

“Well, mate, you see, you put the toast into the toaster until it is nice and toasty, then you take it out and spread the jam and—“

“Oh, shut up Gideon,” James turned back to The Wall, on which his son was now playing another quidditch game.  “Did it leap again?” he demanded.

“Yes,” said Lily quietly.

“Did we miss anything important?” James asked, not really caring.  He understood, where Lily did not, that The Wall had their best interests at heart and skipped the boring stuff.

“Well, you missed our son looking into a mirror that shows his heart’s deepest desire and he saw us.”

“Clearly the poor boy has no idea how lucky he is,” grinned Gideon.

“I do not find that particularly funny, Gideon,” snapped Lily.

“Calm down, Lily.  It’s—“ began James.

“It is _not_ all right.  Our son needs us and Gideon has decided to—“

“Lily!” shouted James.  Lily stopped and, breathing heavily, she turned back to The Wall.

“I think,” James said tentatively, “it is time for a walk.  Lily?”

She said nothing, but turned off the iron, took her husband’s outstretched hand, and followed him out of the house.

Ariana stood up and paused The Wall. 

“What should we do now?  Should we wait for them, or…”

“Or what?” prodded Gideon.

“Or see what they have lying around their house.”

“You mean spy?”

“I mean investigate.”

“You mean spy.”

“All right spy.”

“Excellent.”

 

* * *

 

Lily and James walked for a good hour and a half.  They did not say much, they just held hands and moved quietly through the streets of Death.  Every now and then, James would try to start a conversation, which would banter for about six or seven minutes, and then taper off into silence again. 

They walked all through P.  They visited a park, they strolled through a field, they walked through a shopping center and, by the end of their excursion, Lily turned to her husband and said, “Thank you for dragging me out.  I really should try to be calmer.  There isn’t too much I can do, is there?”

James kissed her on the temple.  “Nope.  Our son is a very good kid.  Better than me, that’s for sure, although maybe not quite as good as you.  I have high hopes for him.”

“I hope they paused The Wall.”

“You know, it might do you good to let his life go on without watching every second.  Lord knows I would have hated to have my parents seeing everything that I did.”

“I know.  It’s hard to explain though.  He’s still a baby to me.  I can’t just let my baby go unprotected like that.  My sister is doing a crap job with the whole maternal business.”

James laughed good-naturedly.  They rounded the corner and walked up the sidewalk to their house.

Upon pushing open the door, Lily let out a strangled yelp.

“You guys are extremely boring.  The most interesting things we found were a pair of boxer shorts that glow in the dark—and they hadn’t even been worn yet,” announced Ariana, who was now wearing said boxer shorts on her head. 

“Ariana…why are you wearing my boxer shorts on your head?” asked James, carefully.

“Because we thought it would be inappropriate for her to wear them on other parts of her body,” grinned Gideon.  He was wearing an apron that said, “Fuck you.  I’m cooking,” on it and a chef’s hat (both belonging to Lily) and Benjy was sitting on the couch, wearing a pair of James’ glasses, sipping a glass of bourbon and reading the newspaper.

“Why were you going through our stuff?”

“Because there was nothing else to do,” said Ariana, matter-of-factly, placing her hands on her hips as she tapped the unpause section on The Wall.  When she sat back down, James snatched his boxers off of her head and shoved them into his pocket.

“I will be getting those back,” said Ariana.

Before James could reply, Lily moaned “Hagrid.  What on earth are you thinking?”

Hagrid was cooing over a newborn dragon. 

“Well…he has always wanted one,” James tried to justify.

“I know that, but that is massively illegal!  Not to mention impractical… I am getting tea.  Does anyone want some?”

“That sounds lovely,” was the general consensus and a few minutes later, Lily returned carrying a tray of tea, teacups, sugar, honey and milk.  She nearly dropped it when she saw what her son was doing.

“James…it looks like he has some of your genes after all.”

“Yes.  It does appear that way, doesn’t it.  I must say I am ever so pleased.  Thank you, love,” he said taking a teacup from her.

Lily shook her head and took a deep breath, then settled on the couch next to her husband, watching as her son and his friend carried the dragon up to the top of the tallest tower, then descend, without an invisibility cloak, into Filch’s clutches.

When Filch brought them to Professor McGonagall, Lily and James watched with baited breath, wondering if their son and his teacher would enter into the same pattern that James had been in with the transfiguration teacher when he was but a wee lad.

It was worse. 

“I have never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students in my entire life,” said Professor McGonagall.

“Say it ain’t so, Minerva.  Surely, surely you can’t have forgotten what we did to Snape after the DADA OWL,” James moaned.

“Face it James.  You have been bested by your son,” said Gideon, taking a swig of his tea, a small smile playing on his lips.

“And he wasn’t even trying to.  He was only trying to help Hagrid,” Lily said, snuggling up to her husband and kissing his cheek.

“And you add insult to injury?  You, my darling, most beloved wife?”

“It’s for your own good,” she murmured.

“I will never be the same again.  Never,” he said.  James’ attention returned to The Wall, as he sipped his own tea.

He promptly spat it back out in shock.  “What on God’s green earth do you think you are doing?”   He screeched at his son, who was trying to resign from the quidditch team.

“It seems that our son got my ‘sense of decency’ gene.  I must say I am thrilled,” Lily grinned. 

Wood refused the resignation and James breathed more easily.

“Don’t do things like this to me, son.  I mean honestly, I can see giving up quidditch for a girl, but never because you lost house points.  Never.  That’s just iditotic.”

“Would you have given up quidditch for me?” asked Lily, her curiosity rising over James’ comment.

He thought for a moment.

“Well, if you asked me now, I suppose, because you will have weighed the benefits and destructive aspects of my no longer playing.  In school, not a snowball’s chance in hell: I would have seen it as a ploy.”

“I am glad that you had such faith in me,” Lily said, rolling her eyes and getting up to begin dinner.

“What are you making?” called Gideon.

“I am making beans on toast.”

“Really?”

“Of course not, you twit.  Don’t ask me what I am making.  I don’t know just yet.”

“I quite like beans on toast,” said Ariana, “Do you want any help?”

“No, I’ll be fine.  Wait a moment.” She returned into the living room.  “I believe you have something of mine,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. 

“Who, me?” asked Gideon.

“Yes, you.”

“Well…I suppose.”  He took of the apron and hat and tossed them to Lily.

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Can I put in a request for lasagna?” asked James.

“No, but you can put in a request for Fuck You I’m Cooking.”

James smiled to himself.  He liked that Lily was in a state of near normalcy.  The wit, the subtle aggression, the dirty mouth.

He heard humming.  He recognized the tune, and was sure that Lily had told him who had originally composed the music she was now singing, but he had long forgotten.  He didn’t have the best memory for music, something both his mother and Lily gave him hell for.  He didn’t have the best memory in general.  It was why he talked to himself.  He only ever remembered things he heard coming out of his own mouth.  He could quote himself quite perfectly.  Others…not so much so.

Gideon was none-too-pleased with the current situation.  For one thing, he had lost his spoils of conquest and, for another, his relations were not currently on The Wall.  It was only Harry, Hermione, Hagrid, the Longbottom and Malfoy boys and an immense boarhound.

He wanted to see Weasleys.

“Ariana,” he said, turning to the little blonde girl.

“Yes, Gideon?”

“I’m bored.”

“You could watch The Wall.”

“But it’s boring.”

“How is watching The Wall boring?  They are in the Forbidden Forest, for goodness’ sake,” said James.

“They are in the Forbidden Forest?” called Lily.

“Yeah.  It’s their detention with Hagrid,” replied her husband.

“They are looking for unicorns,” called Gideon.

They heard Lily mutter an “ah” before she continued cooking.  A fragrent, delicious, vaguely peppery scent reached their nostrils.

“Ariana, I’m bored,” said Gideon, poking her.

“Well, I’m not and you are distracting me, you great baboon.”

“I know, but nothing is happening!”

“Shut up, Gideon,” James sounded tense.  Gideon turned his head.

He was suddenly very pleased that none of his strapping ginger nephews were in the forbidden forest with Harry.

“What the blazes is that?” whispered Benjy.

“Ouch!” Lily cried from the kitchen, but no one responded: they were all watching as a strange cloaked being stalked towards Harry.  “Do none of you care that I almost cut off my finger?” called Lily.  They did not reply. 

A centaur appeared.  The being fled.

“What on earth has you all so entranced?”  And of course, she had missed it.  She was now standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips.  “Should I be worried that my son is riding on the back of a centaur?”

No one responded, all too relieved to find words and not a single one of them wanting to inform Lily that she had missed an extremely scary moment in her son’s life.

“You all are annoying me,” she muttered, returning to the kitchen, whence she did not reappear until the last day of Harry, Ron and Hermione’s exams.

“You made fondue?” asked James, somewhat incredulously when his wife placed a fondue set on the coffee table, next to the toaster.

“I made fondue.”

“And you almost cut your finger…how?”

“Grating cheese.”

“Right-o.”

“Anyway, you can use these forks, everyone.  And there is bread and vegetables and apples to dip in the cheese.”

“Do apples and cheese taste good together?” asked Gideon, whose mother had been an abysmal cook.  His older sister had been quite good, but, of course, she got married quite quickly so he had had to wait to be invited over for to her house to sample her cooking.

“Of course it does, you twit.  Sweet and savory.  It’s like why pretzels and chocolate taste so good together,” said Ariana, who was already dunking a mushroom into the pot of melted cheese.

“I’ve never had it before.  Always avoided foods that sound French.”

“What on earth would prompt you to do that?” demanded Benjy forcefully, as he popped his cheese-covered bread into his mouth.

“Because he has very little sense of what is proper, you know?” grinned Lily.  She really was in a much better mood now that she had been for a walk and cooked.

“Do you feel like we missed something?” asked James, whose eyes were now trained on The Wall.

Sure enough, Harry and Ron were being restrained by a Devil’s Snare and Hermione was lighting a little blue fire to release them.

“There is a part of me that doesn’t want to know…” muttered Lily.

“Not that big a part of you, though, right?” smiled Gideon. 

I won’t describe to you the events that led up to Harry’s meeting with the Dark Lord Voldemort.  You know them well enough.  I will provide general reactions, but they weren’t in general all to interesting, because, while Lily and James were watching their son incessantly, they had somehow missed everything that had had to do with the Philosopher’s (or Sorcerer’s) Stone, Snape and the aforementioned Dark Lord.  They learned most of what was going on throughout the evening.

The flying keys: James boasted heavily about his son’s seeking prowess and asserted that the boy would be playing for England by the time he turned fourteen.  Lily smacked him upside the head, Gideon laughed, Benjy rolled his eyes, and Ariana said that they probably wouldn’t let that happen, as child labor laws forbade Harry from working as a professional quidditch player until he turned seventeen.  James, being the mature twenty-two year old that he was, stuck his tongue out at her.

The chess game: Gideon boasted heavily about his nephew’s skills as tactician and was very proud of his noble sacrifice at the end of the game.  Benjy predicted most of Ron’s moves loudly, so that Gideon had to shut up (a little bit); Benjy had been a champion chessman in his time.  James grumbled about how Ron’s chess skills were nowhere near as impressive as Harry’s quidditch ones.  Lily smacked him upside the head and Ariana said that Ron would probably never get Alzheimer’s because he kept his brain very active.  Gideon pretended to know what Alzheimer’s was.

The troll: Ariana said that the troll had been knocked out quite effectively and that whoever had done it would have to be a very skilled wizard.

The potions: Lily boasted about muggleborn girls with good logic.  James and Gideon pretended to care.  Benjy poured himself more booze.  Ariana didn’t say anything.  Lily got offended that no one cared about self-sufficient, intelligent women to which James replied that this was mostly nullified by the fact that Hermione had forgotten she was a witch earlier in the evening when his son (and Gideon’s nephew) had been in peril.  Lily pouted (and hit him upside the head). 

So, all in all, a good rundown, I think.

In any case, they were all quite as shocked that Quirrel had Voldemort sticking out of his head as Harry was.  James swore loudly.  Gideon did too.  Benjy told them both to watch their language.  Lily pursed her lips (in a way that was surprisingly similar to her sister’s manner of performing this unattractive action, I might add).

They watched as Harry’s skin burned off Quirrel’s face, as Dumbledore rescued Harry and brought him safely to the Hogwarts hospital wing, as Fred and George tried to send Harry a toilet seat—all while eating cheese covered tidbits and drinking white wine (which I believe I forgot to mention, but am too lazy to go and add in).

“It’s a pity that they aren’t going to win the house cup though,” said James, pouring himself another glass of wine.  The end of term feast was beginning. 

“Yes, well, they did break the rules most spectacularly,” Lily was snuggling up next to him.  He was hoping that—if the school year ended soon enough, he could induce her to have some our-son-defeated-the-dark-lord-again celebratory sex.

“It was rather good, wasn’t it?  Pity a member of Gideon’s family wasn’t there to represent at all,” teased Ariana. 

Gideon muttered something like ‘shut up, you horrid little fiend’ which everyone ignored.  Their attention had been piqued by Dumbledore’s announcement about last minute house points.

“First,” Dumbledore said, “to Mr. Ronald Weasley… for the best-played game of chess Hogwats has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

“That’s right!” celebrated Gideon, “takes after me he does!”

“How?” asked Ariana, incredulously. 

“Well, he only ever gains or loses points in increments of fifty points.”

“How on earth do you know he hasn’t gained points in any other increments this year?”

“This publicly?”

“That’s not what you said.”

“Second—To Miss Hermione Granger…for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

“You see,” said Lily pointedly, “and you all mocked me when I said how cool it was.”

“We didn’t mock you Lils, we just didn’t care,” said Benjy. 

Lily growled at him.

“Now now, Lily, be nice.  He’s trying to provoke you.  It is very cool that Hermione got points for being a different kind of nerd than she usually is, calm down,” said James soothingly.

Lily remained stiff until Dumbledore moved on.

“Third—to Mr. Harry Potter…for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.”

James leaped cheering to his feet, then, once again showing his maturity, stuck his tongue out at Gideon, who flipped him off. 

“Boys!” barked Benjy.

“Thank you, Benjy,” said Lily, “James, sit down and stop being an idiot.”

“Being an idiot!” blustered James indignantly, “Our son just won sixty points for his house!  That’s more than you ever won in one sitting.  I think that merits some celebration.”

Lily rolled her eyes.  “It doesn’t matter.  They’ve only tied with Slytherin.  They haven’t won the cup.”

“You all clearly don’t see where my brother is going with this, do you?” said Ariana.

“What do you mean?  Who else can he award points to?” demanded James quickly.

“There are all kinds of courage,” said Dumbledore, smiling.  “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.  I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom.”

“Awwww,” said Lily (who had missed Neville’s show of bravery, but was extremely touched by his reaction).

“Good for him,” said James, his tone clearly revealing his displeasure that his son had not won the cup for Gryffindor.

“There’ll be other years, James,” grinned Gideon, standing up.  “With that, folks, I am going home.  It’s been real, but I can only take so much of you at one go.”

“You should take me home.  My parents will be worried about me, and they don’t like it when I walk home alone in the dark,” said Ariana forcefully.  Gideon rolled his eyes, but nodded.

Benjy muttered something about seeing Silas to sleep, and all three guests left.

“Well?” said James.

“Yes?” said Lily, snuggling.

“Our son survived his first year.”

“He did.”


	5. Game time

“Oh, do be quiet mother.  How many times must I tell you: I was under a spell.  That horrid witch placed a spell on me." 

“Tommy, if you were under a spell, you would have realized it.  It really is a pity that poor Cecilia has to live in F with stupid Lyle Fortescue instead of here with us.  She really was such a charming girl.”

“Mother!”  Tom Riddle was not pleased.

He had had a hard time with his mother, ever since he had returned from his (he shuddered at the thought) wife, the horrid, wicked, twisted and—worst of all—hideous witch Merope Gaunt (Riddle).  She just wouldn’t let it go that he had run off with the tramp’s daughter when he had been several days away from proposing to the lovely, kind, genteel, gorgeous Cecilia Lawrence.  As if he had had a choice.  As if he had known that he was under some spell the stupid witch had placed on him.  As if he weren’t kicking himself a thousand times over for having been so blind, gullible, idiotic and untrue.

He shuddered.

To make matters worse, having married the stupid bitch, he now had to live with her.  He had tried divorcing her several times, but the case had never reached court—Maya had said you have to wait until your offspring are dead to divorce.  Offspring!  The very idea of reproducing with that hag.  He had no idea when the child would die.  He hoped it was soon.  He really wanted to be rid of Merope.  And her crazed family. 

He was glad she was out of the house.  He was very glad.  She was off at some wizard thing.  No doubt trying to mix another love potion with which to bamboozle him.  The nerve of her!  He was offended at the very prospect.  He, Thomas Tobias Riddle in love with some homeless, crosseyed wretch!  No.

He checked his watch. 

Yes, he would be fashionably late if he left now.

Tom Riddle had received an invitation.  To a game night, of all things.  At a wizard’s house, of all places.  By someone who was not even a member of that wizard’s family.  Some Arianna Dumbledoor, or something like that, had requested his presence at the weekly game night that Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Potter hosted at their home every Thursday evening.

He did not know why he had accepted.  But he had.  And so he straightened his smoking jacket, slipped into his most comfortable loafers and left his hell of a home.

Before too long, he found himself in front of rather nice looking cottage, with a truly lovely garden.  The doors and windows were thrown wide open to tempt the sweet spring air inside.  Tom made his way up the steps and then knocked on the door, even though it stood ajar.

“Come in, my good man, come in!” came a voice he had never heard before.  “Are you Ariana’s guest?”

“Yes, sir, I do believe I am,” Tom said to a short, plump man with a scruffy white beard and a bald head, “Tom Riddle at your service, sir.” 

“Welcome, Riddle, welcome.  It is so lovely to have you.  I am Archibald Potter, and my wife Helen is somewhere here.  Helen, Tom Riddle has arrived!” he called into the house.  He beckoned to Tom and the two of them went into the dining room.

“The father or the son?” came a rather musical voice through yet another open door.

“The father.  The son is still alive and tormenting, I’m afraid,” smiled Archibald, “Do sit.  You are the first to arrive.  Although, frankly, I would have thought Lily would have gotten James here on time.  She lives by the clock, if I remember correctly.”

“You do.  It is a pity you only met her once.  And before she and Jimmy got together.  They are a truly adorable pair.  Ahh well.  Hello, Tom.  I’m Helen.”  A very thin woman entered, carrying a tray of sandwiches. 

“How do you do?” asked Tom, standing.

“I am quite well.  I thank you.  Archie, would you put some music on?”

“Of course, my love, of course.  What will it be this evening?  Beethoven’s 6th?  The Magic Flute?”

“I was thinking Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, to get us started if you wouldn’t mind.  I think it would accompany—“ she stopped talking.

“Lily, calm down.  I’m sure that everything will be all right, love,” a man’s voice was saying, clearly trying to soothe.

“Our son is flying a car.  _Flying a car_ to school.  He has never in his life been in the front seat of a car, much less driven one, much less _flown_ one, James, so, forgive me, everything will not be all right,” came a woman’s voice, shrill, and extremely annoyed.

“It could be worse, you know,” came a third voice, “he could be hang-gliding to Hogwarts.”

“Ariana, that is extremely unhelpful,” said the man’s voice.

“Lily, James, Ariana.  How lovely to see you!” boomed Archibald.

“We are in the dining room, my dears,” called Helen.

“Good evening mother, father,” smiled the man who had been speaking.  He was tall, dark (and messy) haired, and wore glasses.  He went over and shook his father’s hand, kissed his mother on cheek and extended his hand to Tom.  “James Potter.”

“Tom Riddle.”

“Lovely to make your acquaintance.  What kind of sandwiches are these, mother?”

“It doesn’t matter what they are.  They are healthy, and so it is better for you not to know.  You _will_ eat them, my boy, or you will regret it.”

“Of course mother.

“Lily, dear, how are you?” asked Helen.

“I am quite well, Helen.  Excellent choice of music,” replied a red haired woman.  She sounded strained.

“Thank you dear,” smiled Helen.

“Lily,” Archibald kissed her on the cheek.

“Archibald,” she smiled back.

“Now what is this we hear about young Harry flying a car to Hogwarts?”

“Oh that—“

“The barrier onto platform 9 ¾ did not let Harry or Ron Weasley through, so they are flying Ron’s father’s Ford Anglia to Hogwarts,” said the small blonde girl.

“Well…that sounds fun,” smiled Archibald.

“Oh Archie.  Ignore him Lily.  He wishes he were twelve again.”

“Not twelve, my love.  Fifteen, maybe, but not twelve.”

“Would it be all right if we turned on The Wall?  I would so love to be able to see if my son has died,” asked Lily

“By all means, my dear, but The Wall only works in the parlor, I’m afraid.  We can still see it through the door though,” said Helen, going through yet another open door.  Moments later, riding over Mozart’s beautiful serenade, came the voice of one Severus Snape.

“Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me.  I shall go and fetch the people who _do_ have that happy power.  You will wait here.”

“Look, Lily.  He lived,” said James.

“Are you sure you want to watch this?” called Helen.

“Looks like he doesn’t stop unintentionally outdoing his dad and granddad.  I am so proud of that boy,” smiled Archibald, who was pouring wine.

“Lily, darling, do come back in here.  We’ll keep the volume up, but it would do wonders to start off our game night with a round of Scrabble,” said Helen.

“Do I have permission to ruin James’ reputation as a speller?” demanded Lily.

“It’s not James you have to worry about dear.  It’s Ariana.  But if you wish.  Do you know how to play, Tom?” Helen asked, turning her attention to her guest.

“I have played a few times, yes,” replied Tom, shortly.

“Excellent,” boomed Archibald, “Let’s get going then.”

Lily whipped all of their butts at Scrabble.  Ariana came in second, but she was quite a bit behind Lily, and James and Helen were tied pathetically for last place.

“Like mother like son, eh?” asked James, toasting his mother with his third glass of wine.

“Indeed, my love, indeed,” she replied toasting him back.

I really don’t know why people enjoy Scrabble, personally.  It is not my type of game.  I personally prefer Risk (as does James) or Monopoly (like Archie), but both Lily and Helen adore Scrabble.  Perhaps it is because they can royally whup their husbands.  (This was an abnormally bad game for Helen, although she did get Yeoman.)

The game was enjoyable, even for Tom who did not entirely know what to make of the strange girl sitting to his left.  He did not know how she managed to get as many points as she did, but there you go.  Ariana is like that, and Tom just is not that well acquainted with her. 

Of course, my dear reader, you want to know what was going through Lily and James’ mind when they heard loud sounds coming through the open doorway into the dining room.

Well, here are some of the finer points.

I.

“There was absolutely no need to send a howler.  The only thing that achieves is traumatizing your child,” said James huffily.

“Jimmy, dear, I understand that you died before you got to your child’s creative years, but sometimes the best way to get them to do what you want is to traumatize them,” said Archie, placing his tiles down.

“Oh yeah?  How on earth did you traumatize me?”

“I didn’t.  I think it’s inhumane.  But you will notice that you haven’t been comfortable eating fish ever since your mother told you what happen when fish are caught.  Did you ever consider it is because she doesn’t like seafood?”

“I did _no such thing_ ,Archie,” said Helen, her face going scarlet.

James looked appalled.

II.

“Turn the bloody Wall down!” bellowed Archie, clapping his hands over his ears.

Many mandrakes were shrieking their tiny little heads off, and since their cries couldn’t kill the dead listeners, nor put them to sleep, they simply annoyed and deafened them.

III.

“What a moron,” Lily said, standing in the door.  It was not her turn, and so she was watching The Wall.

“Who?” asked James, placing his tiles down.

“Gilderoy Lockheart.”

“Isn’t he that bloke who tried to style his hair like yours when we were in seventh year?”

“Yep.  He’s the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“Cor, I’d like to see that.”

A moment later, James said “What a moron.”

“All right, we seemed to have reached some consensus, but why?” asked Archie.

“He decided that the best way to teach these kids to defend themselves is to unleash freshly caught Cornish pixies into the room and then let them catch them,” scoffed James.

“What a moron,” agreed Archie.

“Then the idiot got his wand thrown out of a window because he miscast the spell.  He said _Peskipiksi Pesternomi_.  I mean, for the love of all that is holy, that’s just like saying _Pesky Pixie, Pester No Me_.  Utter jibberish.  The fool.”

IV.

“Blergh!” James cried, turning around. 

“What happened?” asked Lily, placing her tiles quickly and springing to her feet.

“I hate slugs.  Even if they are not of the flesh-eating variety.  And Ron is coughing them up, so.”

“Why is he coughing up slugs?” asked Lily, intrigued.  She knew her husband didn’t like flesh-eating slugs.  She had learned this in her third year when they had been studying Boggarts.  The boggart had tried to scare Peter and James at the same time and had turned into half a slug—not remotely frightening.  She had teased (and still did), but was careful to kill slugs whenever she saw them in the garden.

“The Malfoy git called Hermione a mudblood, so Ron tried to jinx him.  But his wand is broken (how, I do not know—he should get it fixed), so the jinx backfired.  And he’s coughing up…you know…them.”

“I’ve never understood what the problem with being a mudblood is.  Isn’t it better to have ‘dirty blood’ than to be an inbred lunatic who can’t count to five?” asked Lily.

“Yes, but don’t try telling that to Death Eater’s now…or Sirius’ mum.”

V.

“Lily…Our son is hearing voices,” said James.

“That’s nice, dear.”

It was at that moment that James decided that Lily had had enough to drink.

So, as you can see, Lily and James had an enjoyable game night at Archibald and Helen’s house.  After scrabble, they moved on to Monopoly (Archie whipped them all.  There is no way to beat a man who has three monopolies when there are six players, especially when the monopolies are the oranges, the yellows and the dark blues).

They stumbled into their own home, slightly tipsily, a little after midnight.  The wall was still on.

There was a note.  _I paused for you here, because I thought you wouldn’t want to miss it.  Don’t say I don’t care about you._

_\--The Wall._

Underneath this note, there was another note on another wall.  Written in foot-high silver paint were the words _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

“Ah bloody hell.  Our son is never going to get an average year at Hogwarts, is he?” demanded James.


	6. They Really Are Great Parents.  Pity They Died Young.

Lily wondered vaguely what it would be like to be alive right now.  She decided that she would probably be having a panic attack.  Or that she would have about four other children to worry about.  Which would probably lead to a panic attack.  Or maybe, she would understand more about her dear son, and so she wouldn’t worry about him so.

But if she were alive, Voldemort would still be around, terrorizing them, and so Harry would not know what it would like to live a free and happy life (if life with her bloody sister could be called happy).

All in all, she was not doing too well.

Game night had been fun.

She enjoyed Archibald and Helen Potter’s company.  James was certainly right: it was easier to spend time with your in-laws if they liked you.  Maybe she should cancel their lunch with her parents on Saturday, to spare him the agony of her father’s accusatory glares.

But, it most certainly had not calmed her down enough to prepare her for the stress that the announcement plastered on the wall outside of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom would induce: the Chamber of Secrets was open?  Really?  Only this could happen to her son.

Actually, no.  Only this could happen to someone who was at all related to the adorable prat that was her husband.  Frankly, she was surprised that he had not managed to find his way into the Chamber of Secrets during his career at Hogwarts.  He said that he had tried, but never went into details.  Clearly, it was a sore subject if it was something that James did not wish to gush about.

In any case, she and James had decided, upon learning that dark and dangerous things were happening (again) at Hogwarts, that they should go to sleep and let their minds try to calm down (with sex to help them on their way).  

Of course, now, she wished she had not done that.  Her son was hatching a plot to brew Polyjuice Potion illegally, to try and prove the Malfoy boy guilty, which she knew he wasn’t.  But of course, she had no way of communicating this to Harry.

And, to make matters worse, the fool of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher kept on using her son for his idiotic demonstrations.  For goodness sake.  When Dumbledore died, she was going to have a word with him about this man.  Who, in their right mind, would actively employ Gilderoy Lockheart?  Honestly.

So, to decrease her general frustration, Lily ironed.

There was something about ironing that was so…soothing.

It was methodical, it was productive and it made you overheat enough to feel like you were working.  You didn’t have to spend all of your time paying attention to it, but you could look down as much as you wanted.  It was the perfect Wall-watching activity. 

James was out.  He had told her to continue (by all means) watching without him while he was at quidditch practice.  He’d catch up later. 

She didn’t understand men.  How could they spend so much time focusing on sports?  What was so good about sports?  They were utterly unproductive and rather pointless.  She could see someone sitting down and watching a game while working on a crossword puzzle, for example, but she couldn’t see why her husband played and why he had, when alive, gone to games and danced around like a complete imbecile when his team won.

Men.

Or just James, perhaps, because Remus, Sirius and Peter definitely weren’t as passionate about quidditch as he was.

 _Just my luck_ , she thought, _I get the quidditch fanatic_.

Speaking of quidditch, her son was playing.  She sighed.  She was not in the mood to watch it right now.  She went into the kitchen and found herself a slice of cake (cheesecake from a New York deli, with a graham cracker crust and chocolate chips and strawberries mixed in).  She was savoring the taste when she heard a rather ominous sound coming from the quiddich stadium splayed across the living room wall.

“Stand back,” came Lockheart’s voice.

“No—don’t—” came Harry’s.  Lily tore back into the living room.  Not that there was anything that she could do about it…but her son’s arm had just lost all of its bones.

“When you die, Lockheart, I am going to make your Death quite painful.  You will never be rid of me, you moron!” she shouted at The Wall.

“Clearly James is rubbing off on you,” said Ariana as she walked through the perpetually unlocked front door, “talking to walls and all that.”

“Yes, well, your brother has hired the most unfortunate excuse for a human being to teach at his school,” said Lily grumpily, conjuring some towels to iron.

“Yeah.  But you aren’t seeing the humor of the thing,” said Ariana, sitting down.

“My son’s arm bones were just removed.”

“I know.  So think of it this way.  He now has the singular experience of living life as though he were an invertebrate…or his arm does, at least.”

“Not helping.”

“You should meditate.  I hear it does wonders for stress.”

“Yeah well.  I’ll get to it.”

“When?”

“Normally, I’d say ‘when I die,’ but that doesn’t seem to be a legitimate answer anymore, does it…”

“Nope.  Afraid not.”

“How are your parents?”

“Crazily in love with one another.  It’s somewhat sickening to be around.”

“The problem with you dying so young is you never got to reach that age where you stop thinking your parents being all lovey-dovey is gross.”

“Oh, I don’t mind when they are lovey-dovey.  I much prefer it to what they do normally.”

“Which is have lots of sex?”

“Precisely.  Honestly, there are just some things a child should never under any circumstances be forced to hear.  Can I come live with you until Albus or Ab dies?  I promise I’ll clean my room and everything.”

“Sorry.  You’ll have to take that one up with Maya…and James…because he would not be pleased with the idea of you coming here to evade the sounds of sex: it would make him think that he was never going to get any, and my life is so much easier when James thinks he is going to get some.”

“I’m going to get some?” asked James.  He was covered in mud.

“Did you fall off of your broom or something, darling?” Lily asked grumpily.

“No.  Rome knocked me over.  Am I going to get some?”

“Not covered in mud, you aren’t.”

James darted off to take a shower.

“See?  Case and point.  He does what I want him to when he thinks he will get sex.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ariana breezily, “Ooh!  A petrified boy with a camera!”

Lily turned.

“Oh good lord,” she murmured.

“Yeah, that is rather unfortunate,” said James.

“That was quite possibly the fastest shower I have ever seen in my life,” accused Lily.

“I even washed behind my ears.  See?”

“Oh, shut up.  We certainly aren’t doing this now.  It is half past noon.”

“But dearest—“

“It has been less than twelve hours since last we copulated.  I need some time to prepare myself.”

“Do you have to use the word copulate?”

“What is your problem with the word copulate, pray tell?”

“It just makes it seem so…unsexy.”

“Well.  It is an accurate term for our activity and I feel inclined to use the word copulate every now and then as I get bored with such overused terms like ‘have sex,’ ‘make love,’ ‘get it on,’ or ‘knock boots.’  Forgive me for spicing it up a little.”

“You make it sound so literary.”

“This coming from the guy who hangs out with Shakespeare nuts all day?” grinned Ariana.

“Yeah.  I need a break.  There’s only so much a man can handle.  I mean, after hours and hours of ‘I’ll follow this good man, and go with you, / And having sworn truth, ever will be true,’ sometimes a man wants his wife to say ‘darling, lets get our freak on.’”

“Can you ever see me saying ‘darling, lets get our freak on’?  Because I most certainly can’t…”

“A man can dream, can’t he?”

“And his wife will use the verb copulate,” said Lily, leaning in and kissing James.

“um…guys?” said Ariana.  They did not respond.  If anything, their kiss became slightly more intense.  “Oy.  You two.  The Wall’s trying to get your attention.”

No response.

“Your son is a parseltongue!” shrieked Ariana as loudly as she could.

To Ariana’s satisfaction, Lily and James both whipped their heads around and stared at The Wall.

Harry was indeed chatting to a snake.  The subtitles said “Leave him alone,” but everyone in the Great Hall began freaking out because it looked like Harry was attacking one of the Hufflepuffs.

“Oh for the love of all that is holy, now they are going to think he is the Heir of Slytherin,” said James, throwing himself on the couch.

“It could be worse,” began Ariana.

“How, precisely?” asked Lily, sitting down next to her husband and placing her head in her hands.

“He could actually _be_ the Heir of Slytherin.”

“I suppose that’s true,” murmured James.  Lily looked at him.  “What?” he asked her.

“You’re a pure blood.  How do you know you aren’t related to Salazar Slytherin?” she asked him.

“Oh, I probably am.  But I’m not descended from him.  Slytherin’s a descendant of Calypso Peverell and I’m a descendant of Calysta Peverell.  On both sides, creepily enough.  My mum had a phase when she was rather obsessed with family trees.  She got over it when she learned that Mrs. Black was exactly the same way and all my mum ever wanted to do was be the polar opposite of Mrs. Black.”

Lily looked at him.  Then shrugged and turned back to The Wall.  Of course there was no way to confirm Harry’s gut instinct that he was not a descendant of Salazar Slytherin.  They could only be proud that he sensed it in his bones.

They sat quietly watching for a moment.

“Ariana, you’re bouncing again,” said James.

“Yes, well.  That happens,” she replied happily.

“Do you maybe want to do some jumping jacks?  Skip rope or something?”

“No.  Not particularly.”

“Because you are being rather distracting.”

“Sorry.  Just deal.”

James rolled his eyes and glanced at Lily.  She ignored him.

“Hullo!” called a voice.

“It’s unlocked, Fabian!” called Lily.

“Hi.  I’m just popping in to look for Gideon’s watch.  He didn’t leave it here, did he?  He’s convinced that he might have.”

“Erm.  I don’t think so?  What type of watch is it?” asked James, standing.

“It’s his planetary watch.  It’s like mine, only in better shape.  He got it for his seventeenth birthday.”

“Why isn’t he here looking for it?” asked Lily.

“Because he has a match,” replied Fabian, in a tone that clearly conveyed his disapproval at his brother’s playing quidditch.  Fabian was an odd member of the Prewett family: he did not like quidditch.  At all.  It was something that he and Lily bonded over.

“I wish I had known.  I would have gone,” said James, who was now lifting the cushions of the armchair that Gideon frequented most often when he was at 210 Rue Colbert.

“They are playing The Seven Samurai and they expect to be thoroughly flattened, so I don’t think he would have wanted you there.”

“We’re playing them in a week.  It would be nice to know some of their tactics.”

“Ask Gideon once he’s lost.  Not there?”

“Nope.”

“All righty then.  It was lovely to see you all.”

“Stay for a while, Fabian,” suggested Lily, “We haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’m sorry.  I really must dash.  I have a ballroom dancing lesson that I want to get to.”

“You ballroom dance?” asked James, guffawing slightly. 

“I do, yes.”

“Where do you take lessons?  I’ve been trying to convince James forever that this is something he should learn how to do,” said Lily.

“I’m currently studying in J.  They have a lovely little establishment on Foxtrot Lane.  I’ll toaster over a card later on.  I really don’t want to be late.” And with that, Fabian bowed slightly and departed.

“I wonder if he is actually a man, sometimes,” murmured James.

“You know something, James,” said Lily, “Sometimes all a woman wants is a man who knows how to dance.”

“Yeah, but I am a jock.  It is in my nature to make fun of these guys.”

“He probably gets a lot of tail.  There are so many women who go to ballroom dancing classes in the hopes that they will meet men,” said Ariana.

“Too bad that most of the men are gay,” snorted James.

“That is not true James,” snapped Lily.

“Oh come on.  The tightness of the clothes is really not something a straight man would tolerate.”

“Perhaps not a straight man who was not completely comfortable with his sexuality,” growled Lily.  She did not like the idea that James would never learn how to ballroom dance.  Why did we have to die when he was still close enough to his teenage years to be this immature? She thought to herself.

“Excuse me, but what are you—“

“While I love being party to your lovers’ spats, I feel the need to point out that your son is in my brother’s office for being found next to a petrified muggleborn and a stunned Nearly-Headless Nick,” said Ariana loudly.

“Stunned howso?” asked James.

“Not entirely sure.”

“Is there any proof that he did it?” asked Lily.

“I doubt it, somehow.  Albus just let him go.”

“Why is Hagrid carrying a dead rooster?” asked James. 

“I think that pretty much every question you ask me, I will have no answer to,” said Ariana.

“Why is that?” asked Lily.

“I don’t know,” growled Ariana.

“Perhaps because The Wall is selective about what it shows us and, while Ariana has been watching more consistently than we have been, she still hasn’t been able to keep track of what it has been showing us?” suggested James.

Ariana rolled her eyes.

“How was quidditch practice?” asked Ariana.

“Cordelia doesn’t know how to express her love, Iago is being a sinister and conniving bastard, Rome and Julie have a forbidden love for one another, Sebastian can’t find his sister and Brutus is an honorable man.  You know. The usual,” said James.

“I gathered all of that.  But, you know, how were the drills and whatnot?”

“Ariana, are you actually taking an interest in quidditch?”

“Maybe…” Ariana said.

“Well, sit down my good lass and let us have a chat.”

“Oh no,” muttered Lily.  She stood up and went into the kitchen. 

She liked the kitchen.  She liked cooking.  She enjoyed cooking and humming—two things she had learned to do from her mother.  She sometimes wondered if she were just being a submissive woman, because she was always the one who cooked.  But whenever James tried, the results were catastrophic.  She didn’t even want to begin thinking about what James produced because it made her stomach rebel, even when the food was not present.  He didn’t even know how to use a toaster, for goodness sake.

She began to make a bunt cake, because she knew that the shape would intrigue James so much he wouldn’t care what it tasted like—until he tried it and it made him cry tears of delight.

When she returned to the living room, she was, for lack of a better word, surprised.

“James, where is our son?”

“Huh?”  He glanced up at The Wall  “Oh.  No idea.  Wall, what happened to our son?”

The Wall did not reply, it being a wall.

“I don’t care about Draco Malfoy telling his dastardly friends that he isn’t the Heir of Slytherin for the twelfth time.  Find Harry.  Now, Wall!” shrieked Lily.

“Wow, Lily.  Chill out,” said Ariana, as the Wall wrote, _Dear Potter Residence.  I understand that you are worried about your son, which is why I spend my existence following his most minute movements.  It would be nice if you paid attention to my efforts, considering you are the ones who ask me to do it.  It makes me feel very underappreciated, and, frankly, you don’t leave me enough time to see a therapist.  So, kindly, pay better attention.  Yours most sincerely, The Wall.  P.S.  Your son took a sip of a polyjuice potion illegally, which is why he now appears to be  Gregory Goyle._

“I’m sorry you feel underappreciated, Wall.  We do appreciate your efforts.  Really.  We were just a bit distracted, and therefore confused.  Thank you for telling us that Harry turned into Goyle,” said James.

_Thank you for caring about my feelings, James._

“You are welcome, Wall.”

_I am sorry I used to make fun of your handwriting._

“What’s a little teasing, among friends?”

_Friends?  Really?  If I had eyes, I would be crying tears of joy._

“Since I have no idea of your facial expression or tone because you wrote that, I will simply take it as sincerity and say that anything that watches our son so closely and caringly is a friend of mine.”

“James?” asked Lily.

“Yes, my love?”

“You are talking to The Wall.”

“I am talking to my _friend_ ,” corrected James.

“You have gone round the twist…”

“Maybe…but that’s not entirely my problem.  You are the one who cares about it.  Hey look.  Harry’s back!  And Hermione’s a cat.”

Indeed, Hermione was a cat.  James felt rather bad for the poor girl.  She looked rather like Padfoot had looked in their early attempts to transfigure themselves.  He wondered how Sirius was doing.  Next time Lily left the room, he would as The Wall to give him a quick peek at Sirius—just to make sure he hadn’t gone mad or anything. 

“Oh dear.  That doesn’t go well with bucked teeth,” said Ariana.

“Ariana, that isn’t very nice,” said Lily, “Hermione is a very pretty girl.”

“Yeah.  I’m just saying.  I don’t dislike her or anything, it just makes her look rather like a beaver.  That’s all.”

“What kind of beaver?  OW!  OW, WOMAN!  WHAT WAS THAT FOR?” yelped James as Lily hit him repeatedly upside the head.

“She’s a thirteen year old girl, James.  Be nice,” Lily scolded.

“I’m just making a joke.  There is no reason to go completely off of the handle.”

“She is thirteen.  It’s inappropriate to make comments like that.”

“I think you can stop hitting James, Lily,” suggested Ariana.

“I hope he learned his lesson.  Girls are very impressionable at that age.”

“She can’t hear me.  She’s alive, I am dead.  She has no idea what I am thinking.”

“If you are thinking it, I am sure that many of the extremely mature boys at Hogwarts are thinking it as well.”

“Except Madam Pomfrey is a wonderfully discreet woman.  I doubt any of them will find out.  And also, there is no way that my saying this means that the other boys will think so.  They might be more decent than me.  It wouldn’t take too much, as you so often remind me.  And were you that impressionable when you were thirteen?”

“First of all, I doubt that they are more decent than you.  Second of all, yes I was.  But that is irrelevant.  What is relevant is—I feel like we missed something.”

James glanced at The Wall.  The Great Hall was filled with pink and red flowers and Gilderoy Lockheart had unleashed dwarves dressed as cupids upon the school.

“Do you mind asking your new friend why it decided to skip what seems to be a month and a half of Harry’s life?” asked Lily.

“Oh Wall, why did you skip a month and a half?” asked James.

_Dear Potters.  I am currently unavailable.  I am boozing, gambling and spending time with women.  I will be back, fear not.  If you are wondering why I skipped to Valentines Day.  You shall see soon enough.  All the best, The Wall._

“I am somehow not surprised by the fact that The Wall parties harder than we do…” muttered James.

“What was that?”

“Nothing dear.”

“What does he mean by ‘You shall see soon enough’?” asked Ariana.

The response was almost instantaneous.

Harry was lying on the floor.  A Dwarf had him pinned to the ground and was preparing to sing.

“His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard.  I wish he were mine, he’s really divine, the hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”

Lily and James had the response of any parent: they burst into uncontainable and hysterical laughter.

“I think The Wall may be my new best friend!" wheezed Lily through giggles.


	7. Those Father-Son Moments

“I do hope that you will be able to entertain yourself while I am out, darling,” said Helen.

“My dear, I am perfectly capable of keeping myself out of the throes of boredom.  I do not need you here to do it for me,” said Archibald, not looking up from his crossword.

“All right, dearest.  If you need me, I will be at Eleanor’s house.  She finally got around to seeing _Lion in Winter_ and is none too pleased with its portrayal of her, even though she thinks Katherine is a splendid actress.” And with that, Helen Potter kissed her husband on the cheek and departed.

Archibald loved his wife dearly, but was glad that she was out of the house.

Death was not like Life.  In Life, all he had wanted to do was socialize, and make sure that his colleagues were not stabbing him in the back while he tried to negotiate trade agreements.  Death was so much more pleasant.  He could spend all day in his bathrobe, reading, writing, doing crossword puzzles, watching quidditch or, if he were particularly bored, spying on Life.  The thing was, most of his friends were dead, and so he had very little to spy on.  He had spied on Lily and James when they had been alive, but was not as interested as they were in spying on their son.  Maybe when young Harry was a bit older, maybe if he were a tad more mischievous like his Potter ancestors.  Really, the boy hadn’t so much as discovered _one_ secret passage out of the school yet.  He was practically the shame of the family.  Except for the whole defeating Voldemort as an infant thing.

No, no.  Today was most definitely a crossword day.  And it would be a good one too.  Maybe, if he finished his crossword book, he would go for a stroll through P.  Perhaps he would visit Polly Prewett.  Or maybe Patrick Piles.  But for now, he was content to think about 17 down: the home to the majority of treaties between 1800 and 1950.  Ten letters.  Now, an ignorant muggle might say Versailles, but really it was Mexico City.  He filled in the squares.

“Hullo, dad.”  Archibald looked up.  James stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Hello, my boy.  Have a seat.  Would you like coffee?  Tea?  Brandy?” asked Archibald.  He sighed internally.  He wanted to finish his bloody crossword.

“Coffee sounds wonderful,”

“Why don’t we take it in the living room, where we can really chat?” _and where I don’t have to think about my crosswords._   “We can put on a quidditch match, if you like.”

“Would you mind if we watched Harry?  I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with his Life, but the Chamber of Secrets has been opened and there are attacks all over Hogwarts.”

“Again?  That doesn’t sound pleasant.  And I thought that the Heir of Slytherin was Voldemort, and that he didn’t procreate.  How can it be opening again?” asked Archibald, standing.  He flicked his wand and a set of mugs and a coffee pot followed the two men as they moved into the parlor.

“What’s is going on, my son?” asked Archie when the two men had settled themselves and The Wall was on.  Harry was under the old Potter invisibility cloak.  At least he was _using_ it.

“Well, to tell the truth, I’m a bit worried,” said James, sipping his coffee.

“About Harry?  Don’t be.  Even if he is the least like a Potter I have seen in several generations, he still has a good head on his shoulders and is a perfectly capable young boy.  I’m sure that the Chamber being opened won’t—“

“No, not about Harry.  I’m sure he’ll be ok.  It’s more about…Lily,” said James, feeling intensely awkward.  He had talked about Lily with his mum, especially after Archibald had died.  He had needed her advice, as a woman, about how to handle Lily’s swinging temper and her high expectations.  But now, he didn’t know if his mother was the best person to ask for advice.

“What about Lily?” asked Archie.

“Well, she is always so…high-strung.  She doesn’t seem to think that being dead means that she can relax a bit and not worry about our son.  I mean, I’m worried about him, don’t get me wrong, but I understand that there is absolutely nothing I can do, so I do my best not to worry.  I mean, I know that if he does die, he’ll just end up with me and Lily again and he’ll be all right.  I even saw some muggle guy that Lily swore had been beheaded walking around with his head, so I’m not too worried.  But Lily…”

“I see what you mean.  I thought she was a bit overworried when she came over for game night, worried about Harry flying a car to Hogwarts.  Honestly, I thought that was pretty weird of her, especially given that the boy has Potter blood in him and is bound to break rules as an adolescent.  Does he break rules often?”

“Not as much as I would like, and certainly not as much as I did.  He’s a good kid, in general.  Usually he breaks rules for a good cause, which I suppose is better than not doing so at all.  But do you realize he has not once snuck out of school?  I don’t think he even knows any secret passages out yet.  It’s unbelievable.”

“I know, James, I know.”

“And Lily gets upset when I complain about that.  It’s like she still thinks he’s a baby who shouldn’t be able to walk or talk.  I mean, he’s a growing boy.  He should act like one.  But she doesn’t want him to, for some reason I can’t fathom.”

“Well, she only had a sister, didn’t she?” asked Archie.

“Yes, she has one sister, Petunia, who is raising our son—very badly, I might add.”

“Well, it is probably partially that she never experienced very closely what growing boys can be like.  She was raised in a household of girls.”

“Well…she was good friends with…you know…Snape for a while there, so I don’t know…”

“Oh, you can’t call him a real boy, though.  I mean, he was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, that one.  There is no way he sat down every now and then and dropped eggs off of a roof to see how far they splattered.  He was probably researching unforgiveable curses from the tender age of seven, the way most normal boys are flying around playing quidditch.”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true.  But—Holy crap!  Giant GIANT spider!” James recoiled slightly.  He did not like insects.  While slugs were the bane of his existence, he was not overly-fond of spiders either.

“Those will be Hagrid’s acromantulas,” said Archibald, matter-of-factly.

“Hagrid has acromantulas?” asked James, astonished at the very prospect of someone wanting to keep giant, poisonous spiders as pets—even if it was Hagrid who had no normal sense of what a crazy monster was.

“Oh yes.  Did you never come across them when you wandered the forest?”

“No.  We didn’t.  Maybe they were scared off by Moony.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.  Werewolves are immune to their poison and it wouldn’t surprise me if they found acromantulas rather tasty.”

James shivered.  He hoped, for Remus’ sake, that Remus didn’t like the taste of acromantulas.  He wondered how Remus was doing.  But he didn’t want to get closer to that spider than he had to, even if the spider was not going to hurt him (because it was alive) and he wanted to see how one of his best friends was doing.  So he stayed on the couch.

“Wall, would you mind skipping ahead a tick?  My son doesn’t like spiders of an overlarge nature.”

The Wall skipped ahead.  Harry and Ron were sitting beside Hermione’s petrified form.  James wondered vaguely how they had managed to get into the hospital wing when Madam Pomfrey was barring entry to everyone.

“Listen, James.  I think that there isn’t very much you can do.  For now, Lily is just stuck in overprotective mother mode, which, may I remind you, was how she died.  It may stay that way until Harry dies, it may fade away.  In any case, it doesn’t make you love her any less, does it?” demanded Archibald.

“Of course not!  I love her more than I have ever loved anyone or anything and this isn’t changing that fact.  It’s just…I’m worried about her.  I think she needs to get out of this…I don’t know what to call it.”

“Well, you can try, but don’t be surprised if you fail.  Lily is a firebrand, and always has been.  It’s why she makes such an excellent wife for you.  I am sure that, had you both lived, she would be almost as good a Mrs. Potter as your mother,” smiled Archie.

“Almost?” challenged James, “I think she would be just as good, thank you very much.”

“Well, we can’t judge that right now.  What with being deceased and frozen in time and all that.”

“Why did you and mum decide to stay old?  I mean, you can be as young as you want in Death, can’t you?”

“James, my boy, I’m sure you can answer that question on your own quite well.”

“Erm…”

“Because we didn’t meet until your mum was fifty and I was nearly sixty.  We want to appear as we did when we first met.”

“Oh.  Of course,” said James, trying to hint to his father that he knew the story of how his parents met quite well and didn’t need to hear it again.

Archie didn’t pick up on the hint.  “Just because you and Lily met when you were eleven doesn’t mean that that is the case for all of us.  I was fifty nine when I met your mother.  She was working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation.  I, for the International Confederation of Wizards.  One day, I looked up from my briefing book and saw the most breathtaking creature I had ever seen in my life and I knew at that moment that I had to marry her.  It took me a while to win her affection.  I was lucky she was single, or else I would have been doomed…”

James stopped listening.  He knew the story so well.  His parents torrid love affair, then their happy marriage.  It wasn’t new to him.  He was their only child because his mother had stopped being able to bear children shortly after their marriage and both had died rather young by wizarding standards. 

He leaned back lazily into the couch, listening to his father.  He had always idolized his father, and he probably always would.  His father, who worked his tail off for what he believed in, who married for love and cherished his family, who died alone except for his family and principles because his so-called friends had abandoned him in his hour of need.  That was why James was determined to always be a loyal friend, why when they had learned Remus’ secret, he had been the first to tell him that he didn’t give a damn—no one should; that they would find a way to help him. 

Archibald had always winked when he told James off for his bad behavior.  He had always been lenient, saying that as long as James was a good person, the crap that he did was unimportant.  James had often wondered if his actions reflected the goodness he knew was within him when he was alive.

James watched as his son slid down a drainpipe that had appeared in a girl’s bathroom. 

Archibald only stopped talking when he saw his grandson enter the Chamber of Secrets.

“I take back any previous thought I may have had about your son being the wimpiest Potter I had yet to encounter.  He is easily the most gutsy,” said Archie. 

“Yeah, I was going to say,” said James, dryly.

They watched in silence as Harry fought the Basilisk and brought Ginny Weasley back to Hogwarts.

“You know, Lily is probably at home having a fit because Harry just dueled a dangerous snake and almost died and was saved by a Phoenix.  I must say, dad, it is really calming to watch this with you.”

“Well, you are welcome any time.  Now, you should probably get back to your poor, panicking wife.”

“Yes, I rather think I should.”

Archie showed his son to the door, then returned to his crossword.

He really was quite proud to be related to Harry Potter.


	8. Broken Toaster

Bob Larkin was a rather ordinary muggle, who worked as a toaster salesman and an amateur golfer.  He lived his life, not quite to the fullest, but at least to a contented 75% full and when he died, he died happily.

He arrived in death, installed himself in the L section and offered his services to what he knew best: toasters.  You see, toasters are important in death, and there is invariably always something for Bob to do, because you have no idea what kind of idiocies can happen between the dead and their toasters.  (Bob’s personal favorite was the time he was called in because a depressed man had tried to kill himself again by dropping the toaster his ex-wife never contacted him with into his bathtub with him.  The only thing he achieved from this was to make his hair stand on end.  And to break his toaster.)

When Bob was summoned to 210 Rue Colbert, 7,777,777 P, he had no idea what would be facing him, all he knew was that people only called him when they were really desperate to send a message.

He knocked on the door and when it was opened, the red-haired woman who greeted him looked as though she could have kissed him.

“I really need to contact my husband.  He’s in A right now playing quidditch and, well, I have so much that he needs to hear.”

Bob nodded and found the Toaster on the coffee table in their sitting room.

Bob’s first impression was _Wow._  

Bob’s second impression was _Oh my._

Bob’s third impression was _Holy crap, what the hell did these people do to their toaster?_  

For their toaster, instead of being silvery, sleek, shiny and toaster shaped, looked a lot more like a giant crab with very strange purple goo leaking out of it.  The only thing that could have helped him make the connection with this strange, crablike object, and a toaster, was the power chord and the rather burnt toast smell that was coming from, what looked like, the purple goo.

“Well, I’m impressed ma’am.  I have no idea what you did to your toaster.”

“I am going to kill James once I’ve told him my news.  You know what, to hell with it.  I am not waiting any longer for him.” and she pressed the pause button on the top of The Wall.

She was watching a scene in a rather old-fashioned looking train.  There were three children and a sleeping man in the compartment.  The children were talking about murder.

“Oh, come now, Harry.  Sirius wouldn’t murder you.  He may be periodically clinically insane, but he wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head.  You look too much like James.  Dear god.  I am turning into him.”

She glanced at Bob, who had taken out a wrench and was now poking the purple goo.

“I don’t usually talk to myself.  It’s a bad habit I’ve picked up from my husband.”

“He talks to himself?”

“Oh yes.  All the time.  The only way he learns things is if he repeats it at least once to himself and, well…that is his excuse for very often thinking aloud, and saying very stupid things,” she sighed.

Bob continued his work, the red-haired client continued to watch the screen.

After a moment,

“What are dementors doing on that train?”

“I don’t even know what a dementor is, ma’am,” replied Bob, smiling to himself as he located what looked like a spring inside of the strange crablike former toaster.

“You’re lucky.”  The woman shivered.  “Oh wonderful.  Remus is awake.  And my son just fainted.  Excellent.”  Dry sarcasm was laced in her last two sentences.

Bob had met some strange people in death.  It was usually a sign that when someone had broken their toaster in a fit of rage that they were strange.   This woman, who was either a closet case, or married to one, depending on whether or not she was lying about her husband doing god knows what to their toaster, had quite possibly topped his list.  He had no idea what she was talking about.

The only thing he could figure out was that she must have died recently, for if one of those children (the one on the floor, he decided as he glanced up and saw the unconscious boy) was hers, she must have died very recently.  He wondered briefly if he should say anything.  Then, he decided against it, for his wife Martha told him that it was always better to keep a strictly professional relationship with his clients (especially the good looking female clients, because Martha was a jealous woman).

A moment of quietness passed.

He heard on the wall the sound of a man talking about chocolate and how they would be arriving soon.

Then, the front door banged open.

“To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them.  To sleep, to die—”

“James Potter I am going to kill you.”  Murmured the redhaired woman lazily.

“Why, darling?”  Asked James, who bent down and kissed her on the lips briefly, then joined her on the couch.

“Well, firstly, if you are on a Quidditch team of Shakespeare quoting players, I recommend you not screw up the _To Be or Not To Be_ speech.”

“I didn’t.  You interrupted me.  I’ve got all the way up to “Must give us pause” completely memorized.”

“It’s _to die, to sleep_ , love.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I think you are wrong.”

“I know I’m not.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep.”

“It doesn’t go _to sleep, to die_ and then _to die, to sleep_ later on?”

“Nope.  It’s _to die, to sleep_ both times.”

“Damn.”

“Anyway, I intend to kill you.”

“Why?”

“The toaster.”

“I had hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

“That ship’s kind of sailed.  This is Bob Larkin, by the way.”

“Hullo, Bob,” said James.

“Hello, sir.  I must say, I have never seen a toaster quite like this one.”

“My pleasure.  But those are famous last words, my good man.  Wait until Sirius Black dies.  Then I guarantee you there will be something more interesting than this.”

“What exactly were you trying to do?” demanded his wife.

“I plead the fifth.”

“You see, that only works for Caradoc, who is, in fact, American, and therefore the Bill of Rights applies to him.  You, however, are British, and I am also pretty damn sure that I can entice the information out of you.”

“I do wish you would.”

“What the hell did you do James.”  Bob heard a smack, and gathered that the redhead had smacked him either on the arm or upside the head, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know which it was.

“I was trying to make toast.”

“Crab toast?”

“With a bit of blueberry jelly.”

“Oh my god, you really put crabmeat in there.  How many times have I told you just to put the bread in, and _then_ add the toppings once it is all nice and toasty?”

“I plead the fifth.  And who were you trying to contact, anyway?”

“You."

“Why? 

“Well, as you may or may not have noticed, we are now watching the start of term banquet.”

“Yes.”

“For our son’s third year.”

“I was well aware, Lillins, and I made it back in time.”

“Are you Sirius Black?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t have the right to call me Lillins.”

“I’m your damn husband.  I can call you whatever I want.”

“If only wishing made it so…”

“Anyway, back onto the subject at hand.”

“Who is the new teacher at the staff table?” she asked, her voice extremely smiley.

There was a pause.

“Hey!”

“Yes.”

“I know him!”

“Yes.”

“Dumbledore gave him a job?!”

“Yes.”

“Good man!”

“Yes.”

“This is excellent news!”

“Yes.”

“There is more, isn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban.”

Bob heard what sounded like a laugh, a shout of joy and a very violent choking sound.  He glanced up and saw that James looked torn between about twelve emotions.  Bob took advantage of the silence to ask them if they had by any chance some red wine vinegar.  He had a plot.  He doubted it would work, but it was a plot nonetheless to triumph over this strange crab-shaped toaster.  Bob, because he hadn’t lived his life to the fullest, was very fond of romanticizing his job.

“He’s out?” James’ voice was very quiet.  Indeed, it sounded a bit strangled.

“Yes.”  Bob could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m never gonna be able to top that OW! Why the hell are you hitting me, woman?”

“Because your best mate just broke out of jail, and all you can think about is how you can never top that.  You egotistical little bastard!”

“You know damn well that if our positions were reversed, he would have the _exact_ same reaction.”

“Yes, but I also wouldn’t care particularly.  However, you should know better, considering I have been working on you for quite some time.”

“You make me sound like a work of art.”

“By the time I’m through with you, you may be considered one.  At least, by those who know you, because you will be, by all accounts, a decent human being.”

“But you of all people know that these people of whom you speak wouldn’t give a crap about me trying to one up my best mate.  Not even a little!”

“Excuse me ma’am?” asked Bob Larkin.

“Yes, Bob?”

“I think I’ve done all I can do today.  What time is a good time for me to come back tomorrow?”

“Oh, whenever, really.”

Bob departed very quickly.  He had learned a long time ago when it was time for the repairman to leave the premises.  He was also hoping dearly that his wife was not trying to turn him into a human being, although he suspected that it had happened a long time ago.  Ahh well.  What could he do?

 

* * *

 

Bob returned to the Potter Residence the next morning.  He had spent most of his evening thinking about the strange mutation their toaster had undergone and had decided to try a new tactic.  Instead of trying to dig through the goo, he was going to bring an extra toaster and try to absorb the goo with toast.  He didn’t know if it would work, but Death was not always the most logical of places, so he figured it was not an impossibility.

He knocked on the door of 210 rue Colbert and was bid to enter.

The two Potters were watching The Wall again.  It seemed as though their conversation had not changed from the previous day.  Bob was, of course, not privy to the discussions within the Potter residence while he was not there, and so had no way of knowing that they had discussed many, many things between his departure the previous evening and his arrival that morning.

“Look, It’s just rivalry, and a friendly one at that, Lily, darling.  I don’t know how you can possibly think that it is a bad thing.  I mean to say, just because Sirius and I are constantly trying to one-up one another doesn’t mean—“

“I know that it doesn’t mean—good morning Mr. Larkin—that you and Sirius have any intention of actually causing the other more than emotional harm.  I am simply stating that it doesn’t seem like your relationship is rooted in healthy ground if your immediate reaction, upon learning that he has ripped the Fat Lady’s canvas, is ‘Oh no.  Not again.  I’ll never hear the end of this one,’ as if you are disappointed in the fact that you didn’t get to destroy a several-hundred-year-old painting first.  It just doesn’t seem healthy.”

“It is perfectly healthy, Lily.  Nothing more natural.  We are like brothers, aren’t we—“

“Is our toaster such a lost cause that you are just replacing it, Mr. Larkin?” interrupted Lily.

“No Ma’am.  I’m just using it to do my best to repair it.  Don’t worry about it.”

“We are like brothers,” repeated James, “And all brothers have a friendly rivalry.  But no brother would go so far as to harm the other during this rivalry.”

“Except Romulus and Remus.  Except Richard the Lion Heart and King John.  Except Cain and Abel.”

“I don’t know who any of those people are or why you are bringing them up—“

“Romulus killed his brother Remus because Remus hopped over his wall while he was building Rome.  Richard the Lion Heart was killed by his brother John when he returned from a crusade in the Middle East.  Cain killed Abel because God liked Abel’s offering more.  All of those are sibling rivalries that did not end well.”

“Well, you will never be able to add ‘James and Sirius’ to that list because ours is a friendly rivalry.  We are secretly cheering the other on the entire time.  But we also want to beat them.”

“Boys make no sense,” muttered Lily.

“More sense than girls,” replied James genially.

“I will give you that,” sighed Lily.

“Excellent.  Quidditch,” said James happily, leaning back against the couch.

To Bob’s slight amazement, his endeavor to siphon off the purple gooey substance with toast was working.  Unfortunately, it was working extremely slowly.  But that didn’t matter quite so much.  At least he would be able to get a clearer view of the toaster.

He wondered what Larry would say when next they shared tales of Toaster-repair (they did so every Wednesday at the pub on Heintz Street).  Larry was his older brother, the man he had gone into business with.  Larry was much more charming than Bob, although much less handsome.  They spent hours every Wednesday guffawing over the idiotic things some people managed to do.

He was thinking about how he would begin this one when he heard two strangled cries from the couch.  He looked up at the Wall.

A boy was falling through rain and sleet and thunder towards the ground, his velocity increasing at the rate of gravitational acceleration.  An old man was racing onto the field and waved his wand.  The boy slowed.  Bob blinked, but decided that he shouldn’t think about how the old man had managed to successfully combat the laws of physics and should concentrate more on the fact that this man had saved the boy’s life.

“Oh thank goodness.  Thank goodness,” Lily was crying.

“He’ll be all right,” James kissed her temple.  He was just as grateful as Lily to his former headmaster, but decided he needed, at this moment, to be a reassuring figure.  It seemed like the manly thing to do, and given that over the past few days, his machismo had reared its head because of Sirius’ exploits in life, he really wanted to feel manly.  “I don’t understand why the dementors affect him so much, though.”

Lily did not reply.  She just sat there taking deep breaths. 

A moment later James burst into a cry of outrage.

“They _lost_?!”

“James, our son just fell from a broom that was a thousand feet in the air and you are angry because he lost his match?” Lily asked, sounding annoyed.

“No, that’s what I am saying.  The match should have been suspended when he fell.  I don’t understand!  Diggory only caught the snitch after Harry fell.  It should be void!”

“James, calm down.”

“I will not calm down.  There are only two things more sacred to me than quidditch and they are my marriage to you and my friendship with Remus and Sirius.  That means that currently, one of my top-three is being…”

“If you are using holy imagery, I would go with desecrated.”

“Thanks, love.  One of my top three things is being desecrated.  I am horrified beyond anything you can imagine!”

“James, calm down.”

“I mean, they lost to Hufflepuff!  Hufflepuff, of all houses!  I mean, honestly!”

“There is nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, dear.  We have many friends who are Hufflepuffs.”

“Do you know that in all of Hogwarts’ history, all thousand years, Hufflepuff has only won the Quidditch Cup thirty-two times?” demanded James.

Lily snorted.

“You see?  It is an insult to Gryffindor—the house that has won the most Quidditch Cups—to lose to Hufflepuff.”

“It’s all right dear, I’m sure that everything will turn out all right.  Just because they lost this match doesn’t mean that they have lost the Cup, does it?”

“It’s a matter of points, but I would say it is highly unlikely that they can win.  It’s outrageous that they haven’t won the cup while Harry has been at school, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Wall, would you mind skipping ahead a little bit.  James is most upset with the quidditch and I think we should find something that would cheer him up.”

Bob was overjoyed.  The end was in sight, by George!  He had most of the goo off, and he could see why the Toaster had gone crazy.  With any luck, he could have it fixed in the next twenty or so minutes.

“You made a map?” asked Lily.

“Well, yeah.  Handy little bugger it was, too.  Showed where everyone was and everything.  Took forever to work out how to do it, but…totally worth it.”

“I must say I am quite impressed.”

“Thank you dearest.”

“Although I have to say, I wish it weren’t going to help our son break school rules and leave the grounds without permission.”

“Well, he has my permission to leave the grounds any time he likes.  And frankly, I am rather embarrassed that it took him this long to find a way out, and my dad agrees.”

Lily muttered something that sounded like “Potters” but James either did not hear or ignored her.

Bob was concentrating now.  While he had been half concentrating before, he could not now.  This toaster depended on it.  He ignored the conversation that surrounded Harry’s first visit to Hogsmeade, I am sad to say.  He was focused on the inner wiring of the toaster. 

He was, most happily, successful in his endeavor. 

He only looked up again when James started making loud noises (again).

“I don’t believe it!  I don’t believe it!  That wanker, I’m going to kill him!”

“James.  How is our son getting a Firebolt something you will want to kill him for…unless you are jealous of your son’s broomstick?”

“No, no, no, not Harry.  Sirius!  I’m going to kill him.  He sent that broom, obviously!”

“How on earth do you know that?  There was no note.”

“Exactly!  Who else would buy Harry a broom and not send a note.  Has Sirius ever, ever signed a card in his life?  Ever?  No he has not!  Oh, I’m going to murder the bastard.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Potter.  I have finished your toaster,” said Bob, sitting back on his heels.  He was feeling victorious.  He had never seen a toaster like this before, and hoped never to again.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Larkin.  How much will that be?”

“170 TP,” said Bob.  I believe I have neglected to mention that the monetary system used in Death is “Toaster Points.”  I don’t know entirely what the dead use it for, considering that they don’t have to pay for food, housing or clothing, but it is the currency…

“All right.  Let me run upstairs and get my wallet.  I will be right back,” said Lily, standing and moving towards the staircase.

While she was upstairs, James grumbled under his breath such things as “got him his first toy-broom, too,” and “oh, the nerve of him.  I mean, sure, he’s his godfather, but still, there are rules.”

“All right, Mr. Larkin, how much did you say it was?” asked Lily, returning to the living room.

“170 TP, ma’am.”

“What are you doing, Minerva!?!” cried James.

“Here you go, Mr. Larkin.  Thank you so very much.  I can’t begin to explain how much trouble you have saved,” said Lily, ignoring her husband.

“Oh, it was my pleasure ma’am.”

“As you might have noticed, my husband is a bit, well…special…”

“You can’t strip down a perfectly good firebolt!  Lily!  Come here!  I can’t handle this on my own!  Oh it breaks my heart!”

“Have a lovely day, Mrs. Potter,” said Bob.

He left, quite pleased with himself.


	9. It's What Friends Do

There is a most unfortunate muggle stereotype about witches with which I am sure most of you are acquainted.  It is that witches are old, stooped, warty and enjoy making rather disgusting potions with which they can poison the surrounding population of non-magical folk. 

Well, this is the stereotype that pops to mind when one looks at Marlene McKinnon.  She is stooped, old and warty, and has a rather mean cackle.  But, she has never in her life had any desire to be the cause of something as trivial as indigestion to her unwitting muggle neighbors.  You see, Marlene McKinnon is one of the most gifted witches of her age when it comes to the magic of cooking.

Ahh yes.  I once had the delight of tasting one of her home-made _mousse au chocolat_.  It was the most scrumptious thing I have ever had the good fortune to place upon my tongue.  The very memory of it brings me tears of joy.

Ms. McKinnon specializes in desserts.  She can cook anything, but she has such a sweet tooth.  She has never seen any reason not to satiate this sweet tooth at any given opportunity.

So, you can imagine, I am sure, the horror that she felt when she opened her refrigerator—a refrigerator that should provide anything she desires at the moment she wants it—to find a note that read:

_Dear Ms. McKinnon,_

_We are out of sugar.  You have used up your ration for the day._

_Kindly try again tomorrow._

_Yours most affectionately,_

_Pedro Sucre,_

_Manager_

_Sugar Stocking Inc._

_Death_

Marlene almost had a heart attack, something that is very difficult to do when one is already dead.

She didn’t know what to do.  She paced up and down her kitchen, crying and wringing her hands until the proverbial light bulb turned on above her head.  She was sure that her friends wouldn’t have used up their sugar ration for the day.  Marlene did a quick mental calculation.  In all likelihood the person most willing to give her sugar would be Gideon Prewett, but there was absolutely no guarantee that he would be home.  But she was _positive_ that Lily Potter would be home and she doubted very much that Lily would refuse her sugar.  So she swung her traveling cloak around her shoulders and hurried out of her house and to the nearest lift that would take her to P.

She was practically trembling during the ride up to P and walked as swiftly as she could through the town.  She hadn’t been over to the Potters’ in a while, granted, but she had sent them some of her ginger snaps last week, so she was sure that they wouldn’t mind her asking for sugar.  It wasn’t as though she were only a fair-weather friend, was it?  She knew that they were focused on their son and she wanted to continue her baking, thus both she and Lily stayed in their respective homes as much as they could.

She turned up rue Colbert.  What was their number again?  214?  212?  Egad she couldn’t remember.  This was bad.  She should have checked her address book at home where she knew that she had it written down.

She saw Lily ironing through the window of 210 rue Colbert and sighed in relief.  She climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door.  “It’s open!” called Lily and Marlene entered, carrying her measuring cup.

“Hello Marlene!” smiled Lily.

“Hello, Lily, I am sorry to bother you but—“

“Not at all!  It’s lovely to see you.  Do sit down.  James is proving to me that he can cook, so I don’t know if you would like to try some of the dinner he is making, but if you would like to…”

“Well, maybe, I was just dropping in to—good lord, what is your son doing?  Are they teaching Patronuses to Third Years at Hogwarts these days?”

“No, that’s just Harry.  He’s particularly susceptible to Dementors, because he remembers when James and I died,” said Lily, her tone melancholy.  “So he asked Remus to teach him how to cast a Patronus charm.  Remus is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.  Isn’t that lovely?”

“Yes, it is, I--” said Marlene

“He’s doing much better than the nutter who was teaching it last year.  Total moron.  It’s amazing Dumbledore hired him,” came James’ voice through the archway that lead into the kitchen.  “How are you Marlene?”

“I’m quite well, I—“

“That’s good.  I’m making Nachos.”

“Nachos?” asked Marlene, so surprised that she momentarily forgot her desperate need for sugar.

“Yes.  That’s the most intricate dinner that his cooking skills allow him to make,” said Lily, teasingly and lovingly at the same time, “Maybe you should teach him how to cook, Marlene.  You are wonderful at it, and I don’t particularly feel like having to do all of the cooking for the rest of eternity.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t mind.  Send him over some time and I will whip him in to shape for you.”

“James, Harry got his Firebolt back,” called Lily.

“Excellent.  About time too.  Isn’t he due to play Ravenclaw soon?”

“Yes.  That should be on in several minutes.  Do sit down, Marlene.”

“I will in a moment.  Lily, I was wondering, would you mind terribly lending me some sugar?  I have run through my sugar ration for the day.”

“You’ve run through your ration?” asked Lily at the same time that James asked, “They ration us?”

“Yes.  I was making a tremendous batch of chocolate chip cookies to send over to one of the play centers.  I thought that the poor children who died young would enjoy them.  But apparently, using forty-seven cups of sugar is a little more than I am allowed to do, and I promised my brother Ted that I would make him some of my pound cake.”

“Of course you can have some of our sugar.  James certainly doesn’t need it for his nachos and I made and ice cream cake for dessert tonight, so you can use as much sugar from our ration as you need,” said Lily.

“Oh thank you, Lily.  It is such a weight that was lifted.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Marlene.  Those children certainly deserve some cookies and Ted certainly deserves his pound cake.  But do stay for a little while.  I won’t make you eat James’ nachos.”

“I am offended, Lily.  My nachos will be godly,” called James.

“Well, I hope they are finished soon, because the quidditch match is on.”

James appeared, bearing a tray of what was supposed to be nachos, but was actually an unrecognizable substance.  He set the tray on the coffee table, by the toaster, and threw himself onto the couch.

“James, so soon after the toaster fiasco?  Really?” asked Lily, coming over to the couch and poking the nachos with her wand.

“The toaster fiasco?” asked Marlene, examining the nachos.

“James managed to break our toaster a few days ago.  It was totally out of commission for two days because he put jelly and crabmeat on the bread and then placed the whole thing in the toaster.”

“Oh, James,” said Marlene.

“Yeah, yeah.  It’s better, innit?” grumbled James.

“What house were you in, Marlene?” asked Lily.

“Ravenclaw.  And I must say, I am impressed by their chasers.”

“Gryffindor has the best lineup that I have seen since I graduated,” said James, proudly.

“You mean the _only_ lineup that you have seen since you graduated,” muttered Lily.

“Their beaters can read one-another’s minds because they are identical twins, their chasers are flawless, their keeper—with some further training—could play professionally, and then there’s my son,” said James proudly, “who has only missed the snitch once in his career and that was a fluke.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Marlene.

“Well, there were Dementors, and as Lily told you, Harry has a bad reaction to Dementors.”

“What kind of reaction?”

“He faints.”

“He fainted?  While flying?  How terrible!”

“Yes.  Dumbledore caught him, though, so it was all ok.”

“They won’t come to this match, will they?” asked Lily, sounding nervous.

“Nah.  Dumbledore’d go ballistic.”

As James said this, three Dementors appeared on the field.

“Oh no.  Not again,” muttered Lily.

“That’s a spectacular patronus,” breathed Marlene.  Her patrunus was a duck.  Harry’s was a stag.

“Did you see that Lily?!” said James excitedly.

“I did, love!  Our son produced a patronus!” replied Lily, her tone matching her husband’s.

“A _stag_ patronus!  Like father like son, eh?” grinned James.

“I would remind you, dear, that my patronus is a doe.”

“Yeah, yeah.  But mine is a stag and so is Harry’s!  I’m so proud!”

“What is so special about him having a stag patronus?” asked Ariana Dumbledore.

“Where did you come from?” asked Lily, starting.

“I’ve been upstairs looking for evidence of Flimbert,” said Ariana, as if this were a perfectly natural thing to do.

“Ah,” said Lily, turning back to the wall. 

“What’s so special about Harry’s patronus being a stag?” persisted Ariana.

“Well, it means he takes after _me_ , doesn’t it?” said James.

“I beg to differ,” said Lily, “I think it means that he takes after both of us, because my patronus is a _doe_ , which is the female of a stag.”

“Yeah, but does are more submissive, aren’t they?  More quiet.  Stags will but antlers and get aggressive if someone is entering their territory.”

“I would argue that that is a male thing more than a stag thing.”

“The butting antlers?”

“No, you dolt, the being aggressive if someone enters their territory bit.  Sirius’ patronus is a dog and he still jinxed Pegasus Maximillian when he was flirting with Sirius’ girlfriend.”

“Lily, darling, ever heard of the phrase _guard dog_?"

“Oh, shut up.”

“I feel compelled to tell you that while you were arguing about whatever you were just arguing about, Sirius Black broke into Gryffindor tower.”

Lily watched James carefully.  She was surprised that he looked nonplussed.

“What, no childish reaction?” she teased.

“What’s so impressive about breaking into your old dormitory?  If he had broken into Dumbledore’s office and stolen all of the portraits, then I would be sobbing over my wounded machismo.  But that’s easy stuff, come now.  He _is_ a Marauder, after all."

“In any event, that is hardly important.  What _is_ important is that you concede that I can cook and agree to let me do so every now and then.”

“James, these burned off my taste-buds.”

“Which means you can eat more.”

“I will only agree if you consent to go learn to cook at Marlene’s house three times a week until I am satisfied.”

“That’s hardly fair!”

“I think what is hardly fair is that you are making me eat this mush,” said Ariana.

“It isn’t mush!  It’s nachos!” said James, highly affronted.

“It is mush, and nachos are supposed to be crunchy.  So I would say that you have failed in your endeavor to cook dinner, James.”

“Oh, James, don’t look like that darling!” said Lily, hugging James who looked very put out.

“I will gladly teach you how to cook.  By the time I am through with you, you will be better at it than Lily,” promised Marlene.

“Fine,” said James, “I consent, but only if I don’t have to go to dinner with your parents this week.”

“How am I supposed to pull that off?” asked Lily, “They’ll be offended.”

“Then lie and say that Harry is time-traveling and we need to each watch a wall to keep track of him.”

“James.”

“Think up something!”

“All right.  Fine.”

“You could say that James’ is in trouble with the authorities and so has been confined to his house,” suggested Ariana.

“I don’t want to have dinner with my parents alone.”

“They’re your parents,” said James.

“Yeah, but they go on and on about Dudley whenever you aren’t around and I don’t feel like listening to that.”

“Um, guys?” said Marlene, “Harry’s about to be in trouble.”

Harry’s head was floating in midair outside the shrieking shack.

“Oh dear,” said Lily. 

“See?  He takes after me,” said James.

“How does his head floating in midair outside the shrieking shack mean that he takes after you?” demanded Ariana.

“His head is not allowed outside of Hogwarts grounds.  Duh.  It broke out.  Did Lily ever leave school illegally?  No.  I rest my case.  He takes after me.”

Lily rolled her eyes.  The Wall skipped and Harry was standing in Snape’s office.  Snape looked livid.

“This can’t be good,” said Ariana.

 _I’ll show you the best bit_ , wrote The Wall.

It changed its angle so that a piece of paper on Snape’s desk was visible.

_Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people’s business._

“James!” gasped Lily.

_Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git._

“Was that a good ‘James’ or a bad ‘James’?  Your intonation was ambiguous,” said James, reaching to cover the spot on the back of his head that Lily so often smacked when annoyed at him.

_Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a professor._

“That was a very, very bad James!” shrieked Lily in horror.

_Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball._

“Moony’ll get him out of it.  Moony was the best liar of us all.  He could come up with anything right on the spot.  See, look.  He claims that it’s a Zonkos production and—“

“James, you realize that Severus will see right through that, right?”

“Yeah, but so long as it gets Harry out—“

“It makes it look as if Remus gave Harry that thing!”

“He didn’t though!  It was confiscated in our seventh year.”

“I don’t care about that!”

“I think I had better be off.  Cassandra and I have a Flimbert Society meeting,” said Ariana loudly.

“Yes, I think I must head out too.  I’ll just get my sugar and go…” said Marlene, standing and heading into the kitchen.

Lily was screeching at James when she left.

She felt guilty not saying a proper goodbye.  But at the same time, she had what she came for.  A good quart of sugar!  Pound cake at last!


	10. What's the Use of Being Omnipotent?

There are three things, and three things alone, that have the power to throw Maya, the Omnipotent Gatekeeper of Death, into a tizzy.

The first was when Henry, her darling husband, did not organize files correctly on days when he took over the desk for her.  Well, really when anything happened to her files, but usually, when something went wrong, it was Henry’s fault.

The second was when Pesha, her eldest granddaughter who had many anger management problems, stormed into the main hall of Death and insisted that some person or other had died too soon and that she was there to bring them back.

The last was when she couldn't solve a sudoku puzzle.

So, needless to say, when all three things happened on the same day, Maya was in one of the foulest moods she could have ever imagined.

She was sitting there, trying to solve a sudoku puzzle that had been gnawing at her brain for several hours, when Pesha stormed in and screamed, "Gran.  Mercutio Basil LaPeine died too soon.  I am here to bring him back."  Maya, her eyes red with fury, glared at her granddaughter and reached down to open her L base 11 filing cabinet to find that it was filled to the brim with Maple Syrup.

"ARGGGHH!" she cried more loudly than she had intended.

Pesha leapt back, saying "All right, I'll come back later," and departed.

Unfortunately, the damage was done.  Maya was in the worst mood she had been in since the Defenestration of Prague in 1618.

She pressed a button, and a moment or two later, Henry appeared.

“Henry,” she said, doing her best to contain her annoyance, “Why is there maple syrup in my L base 11 filing cabinet?”

“I don’t know darling,” replied Henry, already well aware that his wife was more furious than he had ever seen her.

“Well, would you mind covering for me while I find out?” she demanded.  Without waiting for a response, she stood and swept away.

When she was safely in her private office, she picked up a rubber ball, which she kept for occasions like this, and hurled it against The Wall.  The Wall turned on.  She caught the ball and threw it again. 

“Wall, I want you to find who did this,” she commanded.

 _Don’t you know?_ wrote The Wall.

“I do know.  If it wasn’t Henry it could only have been one person.  But I want to let out my fury, and throwing a ball at his head is the only way I can think of doing just that.”

 _All right_ , wrote The Wall.

An image appeared.  A cloaked man was sneaking into the main hallway.  It was empty.  People wondered why she didn’t work at night.  Anyone who died at night just had to wait until she was ready for them.  Honestly, for someone who works non-stop, with no vacations or holidays, she deserved a good twelve-hours of rest.  It was less than most muggles got. 

In any case, a cloaked man was sneaking into the main hallway.  He looked around, then hurried behind her desk.  She hurled the ball.  It struck him in the head.  He opened a filing cabinet.  She hurled the ball.  It struck him in the head.  He poured maple syrup into the cabinet.  She hurled the ball.  It struck him in the head.  He looked around quickly, closed the cabinet and snuck out of the hallway.

“Thank you, Wall.  If Henry returns home before I do, kindly let him know where I have gone?”

 _All right,_ wrote The Wall _, shall I send a message to my counterpart to let them know you are coming?_

“No, Wall.  I think a surprise would be better,” said Maya.

_Right-O.  Don’t rip his head off._

“Oh, I won’t.  I am feeling much better.  Thank you for letting me chuck a ball at you.  I hope it didn’t hurt too badly,” said Maya.  She leaned over her desk and scribbled a note to Henry instructing him to remove the maple syrup from the filing cabinet and to salvage what paperwork he could.

 _Not at all,_ replied The Wall _._

She turned off The Wall and left her office.  She moved swiftly to the elevators at the end of a hallway. 

 

* * *

 

 

Lily heard a knock on the front door of her house. 

“It’s open!” she called.  She had ironed as much as she could for the day and was now knitting.

“Yes, it is,” came a voice that Lily recognized all too well.

Maya, the Omnipotent (and rather annoyed) Gatekeeper of Death was standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Maya,” said Lily, rather breathlessly.  She stood.  “What may I do for you?”

“I was wondering, is your husband home?  I’m afraid there is something I would like to discuss with him.”

“He is out at the moment.  He has quidditch practice, and then he usually goes to the Pub on Wienershnitzel Road for a pint with his teammates.  I don’t know when he will be home.”

“Ahh.  I hope you don’t mind my staying until I have had a word with him, do you?”

“Not at all.  Do sit down.  May I get you a cup of tea?”

“Oh, no thank you.  I see you are watching your son,” said Maya.

“Yes.”  Maya felt waves of pride flowing out of Lily’s aura.

“You are proud of him, I see.  He is a very intelligent and courageous boy.  He reminds me a bit of my son at that age, although with slightly more angst.”

“Angst?  I wouldn’t call Harry tremendously angsty,” said Lily.  Maya heard her think _I hope not at the very least._

“Oh, he isn’t particularly angsty just yet.  More when he is fifteen or so.  That will be a rough year for him.  But you see the seeds of it in his anger over the supposed betrayal that Sirius Black committed against you.”

“I suppose,” said Lily slowly.  “I really don’t know when James will be back.  It might be better to try another time.”  She sounded apologetic.

“Oh, I have all the time in the world.  Unless, of course, I am intruding.”

“No, no.  Not at all.  I simply imagine that you have a lot of things to do, and so waiting around for James to finish with his friends might eat up a large portion of your day.”

“And, as I have said, I have all the time in the world, so you needn’t worry.”

They sat quietly for a moment, watching as Harry, Ron and Hermione snuck down to Hagrid’s hut under James’ old invisibility cloak.

“Your son is quite lucky in his friends, I must say.  Couldn’t ask for more devoted or loyal ones.”

“He has James’ happy talent for making friends,” said Lily, almost wistfully.

“What do you mean by ‘happy talent’?  I am under the impression that James alienates as many people as he befriends.”

“Well…James has always been able to make friends quite easily.  He’s charming, he’s entertaining, and he’s sincere.  He makes friends quickly, and in all but one case his friends are unswervingly loyal.  For me to have that degree of intimacy with someone…well…it takes about five times as long.”

“Would you say that Harry does that, because I don’t think he does.  I think he is very close with Ron and Hermione, and quite friendly with other people, but not anywhere near to the same degree as his friendship with those two.  They are his surrogate family, while the others are friends whom he trusts, but still keeps at a distance.  Wouldn’t you say that is closer to how you make friends?”

“No, because he trusts even those less intimate friends, doesn’t he?  He trusts all of the Weasleys, he trusts Neville Longbottom, he trusts the people he likes.  Even if I like someone, I may not trust them.  Come to think of it, I am not entirely sure why I am even telling you this.  I don’t know you and I therefore feel as though I shouldn’t trust you.”

“You are telling me because I somehow manage to inspire trust in everyone.  It comes with being omnipotent.  Besides, I won’t tell anyone.  I spend too much time dealing with everyone’s problems to share them, and Henry—the only person I would tell—is not remotely interested.  He much prefers listening to opera than hearing me gossip, and my offspring don’t know the majority of the people I do…it happens when they aren’t spending every day ushering people into Death.”

“Where _is_ James.  I would think he would want to watch the reconciliation of his son and best friend.”

“He is still at the Pub, I believe.  I am sure that he is watching there.  And if not, he can watch it on replay when he gets home.”

“You can do that?” asked Lily.

“Oh yes.  It makes things quite nice if you want to watch something with a friend.”

“I feel like most of my friends are more James’ friends though.  He was always way more into the Order than I was.  All of my dear friends are still alive…except for Ariana Dumbledore, and I feel as though she is a dear friend of mine simply because she is impervious to the idea that I might not be as close to her as she wants me to be.”

“That is one of her charms,” said Maya, sipping her tea.

“Also one of the things that annoys me the most…” grumbled Lily.

“How often those two coincide,” smiled Maya.

“Yes.  They always seem to, don’t they?  James’ self-importance is both what I loathe about him and what I am attracted to, Petunia’s obsessive compulsive disorder is both what makes her so organized and prepared and what makes her utterly unable to live her life at all and Severus—” Lily cut herself off.

“Severus?”

“It is strange.  Even though I haven’t counted him among one of my friends for years, I still feel as though I know him very well.  Even watching him torment Harry, I know exactly what it is.  He hates that he sees my eyes in James’ face.  What he always loved in me smack dab in the middle of the one person he hated most on this earth.”

“I don’t think it’s strange at all.  Just because you are no longer friends doesn’t mean you can’t—” The front door banged open and James strode inside.

“It is finally happening!” he said excitedly.

“Hello, darling.  Maya stopped in to see you,” said Lily.

Maya stood.

“James Potter, I would like a word with you,” she said, doing her best to sound regal and detached.

“I filed my paperwork,” said James, confusedly.

“It is not about your paperwork.”

“Well, can it sit a few minutes?  I understand that it’s important and all that, but there is no way I will even begin to pay attention if I might miss Harry and Sirius becoming friends.”

“James, I can pause it,” said Lily.

“You think I will be able to concentrate if I know that this is going on?  I could hardly finish my final Transfiguration paper in seventh year because I knew that somewhere, someone was listening to the England-Germany quidditch match on a wireless.”

“Do watch this.  I must admit, I am curious as to what will happen,” said Maya, sitting back down.

“I thought you were omniscient,” said Lily.

“I can read peoples’ minds, I know everything that has ever happened and I can sense what will happen in someone’s future based off my immediate understanding of their character, but I am no Seer or Prophet, nor can I decide someone’s actions for them, as much as I would like to.”  She glanced in James’ direction.  He was ignoring her.  His eyes were trained on the wall.

I know you will be surprised when I tell you this, dear reader, especially given both Lily and James’ inclination to comment aloud on what they see displayed on The Wall before them, but they did not utter a sound.  Neither so much as cleared their throats.  I would gladly tell you want happens during their several hours of silence, but you see…because they don’t say anything, it would be undisguised plagiarism and I could get into big trouble for that.  But, if you are not well acquainted with the scenario in which Sirius Black proves his innocence to young Harry Potter and then with the aide of the boy, escapes from a fate worse than death, you can find it in JK Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, chapters 17-21.  It is a highly entertaining read and I recommend it most heartily.

In any case, back to the story.

When Sirius was safely on Buckbeak’s back, James let out a whoop.  Lily kissed his cheek and murmured that even if some of the stupid genes did end up in Harry, they clearly were being put to good use.  James smiled and leaned back contentedly.

Maya cleared her throat.

“If I may speak now, Mr. Potter, I would like to do so very much,” said Maya.

“Of course, Maya,” responded James.

“Very well.  May I ask what provoked your actions of last night?”

Lily turned to look at James.  She had no idea what was going on and sensed that she would not like it.

“My actions of last night?” asked James.

“Yes.”

“Erm…”  He crinkled his forehead.  He could not, for the life of him, remember what he had done last night.  He had been to the Pub on Wienershnitzel road with Benjy and Gideon and they had had several pints, but other than that…he couldn’t remember.

“What did he do?” demanded Lily, still looking at James.  James wanted to thank her for asking the blunt question, because he might be able to respond better if he knew precisely what he was being accused of.

“He filled my L base 11 filing cabinets with maple syrup.”

“James!” gasped Lily, “You didn’t!”

“Erm…” said James.

“I would like you to explain yourself,” said Maya.  She already knew that he couldn’t, of course.  She knew that he was completely pissed and was utterly unable to remember what he had done after about 10:30 the night before.  This was going to be fun.

“Well, I was, erm…” said James.  He was completely astounded with himself.  Never in his life had he ever stumbled for words.  He had always been able to summon, at the very least, a plausible defense.  But pouring maple syrup into a filing cabinet?  Really?  It felt as though Peter had invaded his body.  Peter had always wanted to pour maple syrup into someone’s filing cabinet.

“We are waiting, James,” said Lily.

“I have no explanation for my actions?” James tried.

Lily stared at him, furiously.

“Well,” said Maya, very coldly, “in that case, the only thing that seems appropriate is that you intern at my desk for a week.  Get used to seeing life from my end.”

“What?  I can’t!  I mean…” James fumbled for words, “I’m no good at desky things.  And I am really bad at organizing my own things, much less following someone else’s long established pattern, isn’t that right?…Lily?”

Lily said nothing.

“Excellent. I will see you at seven o’clock tomorrow morning, Mr. Potter.  You will stay until around three in the afternoon, I think.  That should leave you enough time for your little quidditch team, and everything.”  Maya stood.

“It was lovely talking with you, Lily.”

“The same to you,” said Lily, strained.

“Until we meet again,” said Maya, walking to the door.

“Goodbye!”

The door slammed shut.

“James,” Lily’s voice sounded quiet, although James knew that it would only grow in volume, “what on earth were you thinking?  Maple syrup?!”

“I can’t have been thinking.  I must have been drunk!  It’s the only explanation.  I was at the pub with Gideon and Benjy and—“

“There are many things you can blame upon your alcohol consumption.  Your choice of night clothes, for example, or a tattoo you didn’t have the day before, but actively pouring _maple syrup_ into Maya’s cabinet?”

“I’m sorry!  I—”

But Lily had stood up and was moving into the kitchen.  A few seconds later, he heard her furiously chopping things with a knife.

James turned back to The Wall, wondering what on earth he could say or do to get out of this one.  But it was quickly wiped from his head.

His son was grinning up into Vernon Dursley’s overlarge face and was saying “He was my mum and dad’s best friend.  He’s a convicted murderer, but he’s broken out of wizard prison and he’s on the run.  He likes to keep in touch with me, though…keep up with my news…check if I’m happy…” and he couldn’t help but smile.

 


	11. The Pub on Wienerschnitzel Road

A new day was dawning in Death and James Potter knew much better than to stay home that day. 

First off, he had quidditch practice in the morning, and then he had every intention of going to the Pub on Wienerschnitzel road to watch the Quidditch World Cup in Life: Ireland vs. Bulgaria.  He could have watched this game at home, considering his son was going with all his friends (he wondered if it was problematic that all of his sons friends, except for one, belonged to the same family, but this was a worry he had never shared with his wife). His wife would be forced to watch the game so as to spy on the poor lad.  But James had no desire to do that.  Watching quidditch with Lily made him want to burn his eyes out with hot acid, because she didn’t understand the necessity of an ambiance when watching quidditch.

And so he arrived at the Pub on Wienerschnitzel Road, ordered himself a beer, and sat down with his Shakespeare quoting quidditch teammates to enjoy the game.  They all were looking forward to enjoying the game together, and periodically reciting Shakespeare’s sonnets in the hopes that that would inspire some of the pub-goers to actually maybe come to some of their matches.  Mostly the people that came were actors or muggle English teachers who wanted to hear some of the Bard’s great speeches.

Now that that is said and done, allow me to introduce the following character: Cassandra of Troy.  She is the best friend of Ariana Dumbledore (whom you may remember as the first acquaintance the Potters made in Death, or Albus’s little sister—whichever one you prefer works just fine).  She (Cassandra, not Ariana) has this unfortunate habit of seeing the future and telling people about it.  Even more unfortunate is the general reaction that people have when she tells them what she sees: “Oh Cassandra, not another one of these.”  No one ever believes her, until, of course, it is too late.  Ariana, at least, doesn’t say anything, even though she doesn’t believe Cassandra any more than your average Bob.  Cassandra and Ariana (for those of you who don’t remember) are the heads of the mysterious Flimbert Society, of which, as far as we know, they are the only members. 

In any event, because James was out of the house and Lily was doing that thing that she does (i.e. obsessively spy on her son, and doing the ironing) Ariana and Cassandra arrived to keep her company and chatter.

They watched as the Weasleys set up their tent, they watched as Harry, Ron and Hermione found their way through the camp site and met up with several _compadres_ , they watched the appearance of Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch (whose pitiful and imminent death Cassandra predicted, to universal eye-rolling). 

After the group arrived at the quidditch pitch (Lily had to admit aloud (taking advantage of her husband’s absence) that it was a rather snazzy looking stadium) and after the Veela and the Leprechauns did their things, the game began.  Lily was actually surprised at how much she was enjoying the game, considering James was not there to explain it in a patronizing way (as if she hadn’t become very well acquainted with the game since the age of eleven).  She was even beginning to enjoy herself a little, or at least, she was until Cassandra said

“Flimbert alert.”

“Who?” replied Ariana quickly.

“Lynch.” 

“Hmmmm.”  Ariana appraised the Irish Seeker.  “Definitely.”

The two girls nodded knowingly at each other and Lily sighed, to express her exasperation over the fact that she had NO idea what the hell they were talking about, and the fact that they were under no circumstances going to explain it to her. 

The game ended relatively quickly, the Weasley Twins won a large sum of money and everyone went back to their corners.  Lily expected that James would be back fairly soon and hoped so, as the two girls were now speaking in code about their little society.  (James was in fact enjoying another pint with his comrades, who were trying to help him memorize Shakespeare’s sonnet 116, so that possibly he could recite it correctly to Lily and convince her to sleep with him, something she was becoming less and less willing to do now that Harry was at Hogwarts and something interesting might tentatively happen.  James was currently on line 6.  He was, admittedly, learning very quickly, when there was sex on the line.)

Lily paused the screen to make some tiramisu, which was a dessert that was looked upon with wholehearted joy by the two guests.  She sang to herself several Beatles tunes as she prepared the dish.  She prepared the dish carefully and slowly, with the art of one who enjoys cooking and doesn’t want to finish the task too soon.  There was the added benefit that she didn’t have to hear the Flimbert mumblings and her husband might be home soon.

Well, James did get home (she heard him greet Ariana and Cassandra, then unpause the screen), and he came into the kitchen as Lily was putting the _tiramisu_ into the refrigerator

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments; love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand'ring bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

She smiled at him, and stood on her tip-toes to give him a kiss.

“You are getting much better at reciting Shakespeare.”

“I didn’t screw up this time,” smiled James, kissing her again.

“With the text, no, with the recitation yes.”

“Dear god, what did I do this time?” he said leaning in once more to kiss her.

Lily smiled.  She knew exactly what was on his mind.  She really did enjoy teasing him sometimes.  She had to admit, for a pureblood to join a quidditch team devoted to Shakespeare, that took rather a lot, especially since he had had no idea who “that Shakespeare bloke” was at the time.

But he seemed to be enjoying himself, and Lily liked having discussions of Shakespeare over dinner, when they paused from their spying on Harry (like right now).

“Well, as I say, the text was correct.  You just had a little problem.”

“Which was…”

“You didn’t pronounce the ‘ed’ on ‘fixèd mark’ correctly.”

“Well, Lils, you see, in English, it is rather rare that we pronounce the ‘ed’ at the end of the word.”

“Except that in Shakespeare, when there is an accent over the ‘e’ of the ‘ed’ you do.”

“I learned it by ear, not by text.”

“And your teammates didn’t correct you?”

“Well…Rome was a bit tipsy…”

“That’ll do it, won’t it?” she smiled and kissed him more deeply this time.  She was in a good mood.  Shakespeare had some strange effect on her.  It made her…well…it was hard to describe.

There were screams in the other room.

 _Fuck_. thought James.

 _What the..?_  thought Lily.

The pair of them entered the living room to find the Dark Mark floating above the trees by the campsite.

“Well, he’s coming back for sure now.” Said Cassandra.

And given what they were looking at, the others found it hard to discredit this idea.

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra was one of those types who very rarely went home.  She bounced from one friend’s house to another’s, without ever seeming to get the hint that she was (for the most part) unwanted.  The only time she was ever genuinely wanted was when she spent time with Ariana Dumbledore, who was currently spending a great deal of time with the Potters of rue Colbert.  She didn’t mind them all that much, although she found it highly annoying when James insisted that what she was trying to say was “complete and utter crap”, or when Lily gently hinted that she might not be thinking quite clearly.  For some reason, from them, it annoyed her more than from others, probably because she had the distinct impression that they were stealing her best friend away. 

This was, of course, “complete and utter crap,” but Cassandra was used to being left on the sidelines, and it made her a bit bitter that she was going to, yet again, have to find someone who would just…understand her.

It was a hard thing to do.  People, generally, do not like seers.  They either fear them or mock them, and very often do one to maintain the appearance that they are not doing the other.

Ariana visited the Potters constantly.  She had even petitioned Maya to let her move in with them, which Cassandra did not understand.  They hardly knew Ariana and Cassandra lived alone: she would gladly let Ariana move in with her.  It would make their Flimbert meetings more frequent, and they were some of the most enjoyable moments that Cassandra had in Death.

But Cassandra knew that she had to bite the bullet and just do it, as Nike would have told her.  So, she went to the Potters’ house one day with Ariana.  They were reasonable to her, or at least more reasonable than many people were.  James bantered with Ariana and his wife, while the latter ironed and fussed over her son and her husband.  They were lovely people.  Charming, kind, caring…

But that didn’t stop them from mocking her when she predicted the dark deeds that would surround the Triwizard Tournament when it was announced at Harry’s welcome back feast the second time that she visited them.

“Look, Cassandra, I don’t see how you can possibly think that Mad Eye is an imposter who will cause ‘danger and destruction’ at Hogwarts this year.  Sure, he may transfigure someone into an orangutan for looking at him funny, but he wouldn’t do anything to undermine Professor Dumbledore,” said Gideon.

“And cheating?  You think there will be cheating?  You are getting Great Britain, France and the former Soviet Union in a competition against one another.  Of _course_ there will be cheating.  Even I could have told you that, and I, as my darling wife enjoys pointing out, am unbelievably blind to the obvious,” said James, taking a swig from a bottle of Blueberry Juice (a recommendation from his teammate Brutus).

“And Cassandra, darling, I think if my brother wants to prevent casualties, he will prevent casualties,” said Ariana, taking her hand reassuringly.  “But if you think it’s going to happen, shall we take bets?”  She glanced around the room.

“We will not be betting, young lady.  You are still underage,” said Lily.

“I am always going to be underage,” grumbled Ariana.

“Should have thought of that one before you went and died, shouldn’t you?” grinned Gideon.

“Take that one up with Albus.  And frankly, I don’t think Maya cares very much if I bet a little bit…”

“And what would you bet?  Toaster Points?  They are practically useless…” grumbled James.  James was not in a good mood.  He was exhausted.  He had been dragooned into working for Maya for a week, and…it did not agree with him.

Because he was not Maya, and was therefore not omniscient, he spent most of his time trying to figure out how on earth her system of files functioned.  Then he had to organize them.  Then he had to cross-reference.  Then he had to quadruple check.  He hated working behind a desk.  There had been a reason he wanted to fight Voldemort and play quidditch professionally when he grew up.  He was frustrated with Toaster Points because it was an unpaid internship.

But back to Cassandra.  She understood them not believing her.  It happened.  No one ever believed her.  She got it.  Fine.  Ok.  Cool.  But those mockings were not polite, oh-hi-Cassandra-you-are-my-friend-and-i-like-you-but-man-are-you-crazy mockings, they were more like there-she-goes-again-can’t-she-get-a-grip? mockings and she didn’t like it.  Not one bit.  But she didn’t know these people, so she just kept her mouth shut.

So, when the delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived a Death-hour or two later, she bit her toungue, even though she was dying to cry out “He’ll be dead in less than two years, look at him!” when Karkaroff appeared on The Wall.

“Can you believe that?” said James.  “I can’t believe he got off.  Look at him.  If anyone was ever a Death Eater, it was him.”

“He’s even got a funny accent.  And a goatee.  I mean, really, a goatee!” exclaimed Gideon.

“Not all people with accents are Death Eaters,” said Lily.

“I know.  It’s just on the scale of harmless to ‘I’m evil and laugh while stroking my goatee,’ a funny accent automatically raises your score a little bit.”

“Have you thought about this, Gideon?” she asked.

“Yeah.  Haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Holy crap, he’s still at school?” said James loudly.

“Who?” asked both Gideon and Lily.

“Viktor Krum.  That’s amazing!  He can balance a professional quidditch career and still go to school.  Impressive.”

“I think that’s the sign of an unhealthy home life,” said Lily, shrugging.

“Why?  What makes you say that?” said James quickly.

“Well…”

“You don’t have a back up argument, do you?  Well, I think that it is a sign of a _healthy_ home life, if you asked me.  His parents recognized his love of quidditch and his sheer talent and encouraged him to play professionally—something he does quite well, I might add.”

Lily ignored him.

“Hah.  I win.  Did you see that Gideon?  Ariana?  Cassandra?  I won.”

“I think you only won because Lily wasn’t thinking about what she was saying,” said Ariana.

“Doesn’t matter.  Congrats, man,” grinned Gideon.

“You know, she is right.  He doesn’t have a healthy home life.  He has grown up thinking his parents don’t care about him and all he wants to do is impress them which is why he is going to attach all of his hopes and dreams on a girl who doesn’t return his affections because she is in love with someone else while all he wants to do is get married, settle down in the Bulgarian countryside and have his own family and take control of his life.”  Cassandra had held back as long as she could.  But she was an extrovert, and had something to say. 

They all stared at her for a moment, then turned back to The Wall.  She kicked herself internally.  Her voice had sounded shrill, even to her own ears.  God, why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut?  They wouldn’t believe her until they saw Krum around Hermione.   And they wouldn’t understand why Hermione wouldn’t love this kind-hearted professional quidditch player until she started acting edgy around Ron during their sixth year.

She hardly paid attention during their hoots of glee over Fred and George’s marvelous white beards, and ignored their horror at Hagrid’s attempts to impress Madame Maxime.  She wanted to go home.  She was not having fun and Ariana was ignoring her and she didn’t know these people and they were mocking her and treating her like a pariah, just like everyone else.

Things just weren’t fair.  Damn those bloody Olympians.

“I am going to—Merlin, why do these things keep—Oh for the—I can’t—“

“Forgive James’ incoherence.  He is thinking aloud and clearly doesn’t know what to think,” said Lily.

“Lily, our son’s name just came out of the Goblet of Fire.  Illegally.  He is never going to have a normal year at Hogwarts, is he?  I had seven.  He can’t even have one.  He’s never going to understand what it meant to me!” snapped James.

“Really?  That’s why you are angry?”

“Yes.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that, once again, without trying, our son—who clearly has all of my awesome traits—has outdone you?”

“No.”

“That you died before your glory days could even get started?”

“No.”

“Ohhh, poor Jamesie.  Here, my darling.  Why don’t I give you a hug and make you some hot chocolate that you can cry into like a little child,” said Lily in a baby voice.

“Shut up.”

“Poor Jamesie, feeling insignificant.  No one at Hogwarts even remembers his legacy except the teachers.  Poor poor Jamesie.”

“Shut up!” snapped James.

It was in that moment that Cassandra realized something—something about the present that she had missed while her head was too focused on the future.  These people mocked, not out of meanness, but out of affection.  Lily was mocking her husband to tease him, but she understood why he was angry and was sympathizing in her heart.  Maybe that was what they had been doing earlier?

She didn’t know.  She wasn’t that good with the past—it wasn’t her thing.  But maybe she would pay a little more attention in the future.

“I know at least three of you want some of that Hot Chocolate,” she said, getting up and heading over to the kitchen.

“That sounds wonderful,” smiled Ariana.

“I’d love one,” said Gideon enthusiastically.

“Yes please,” said Lily, “James?”

He paused.

“Oh…all right.  But not to cry into like a little child, OK?” he said forcefully.

“Of course not, dear,” agreed Lily placatingly. 


	12. The Feeling is Mutual, I'm Sure

James spat out his coffee—which proved to be a bad idea.

“Wait…you _dated_ that monster?” he said, horrified, “hot hot hot!” he breathed, waving his hand over his pants and shirt furiously, in the hopes of cooling down the coffee.

“Yes.  I did,” said Caradoc.

“What on earth would possess you to do such a thing?  Do you not see how she has ruined my son’s life?”

“I think ‘ruin’ is a bit harsh, James.  She has certainly made it very unpleasant for a few weeks, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘ruined,’” said Lily, magicing the coffee out of James clothes.

“‘Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?’” asked a cheeky Slytherin that The Wall had chosen, for some unfathomable reason, to show them.

“Now, James.  Bear in mind, I dated her when I was younger than you are now.  I would do anything for a lay…and let’s face it…she was easy.”

“That makes me feel better,” grumbled James, “But only momentarily.  You _shagged_ Rita Skeeter?”

“Here we go,” muttered Lily.  She got up to fetch James some more coffee, even though she half expected him to spit it out again.

“Yes.  Twice.  Or maybe three times.  I forget.  It was a while ago.”

“So how old is she?  She only looks…forty?”

“She’s in her sixties.  She doesn’t look it.  But magic can do that.  We went out when we were seventeen.”

“Wow.  You were seventeen?”

“Oh, shut up.  Do you want me to tell the story or not?"

“Not particularly, but I feel you are going to tell it anyway.”

“We got together because she started making out with me at a party.”

“Caradoc, don’t you think that, considering you have lived in Great Britain all your life, you could at least say _snogging_?”

“My parents are American.  I will speak as I see fit, you wippersnapper.”

“You aren’t that old.”

“I’m old enough, now cork it.  She started making out with me at a party.  I asked her out.  We went to Hogsmeade, we came back, we had sex.  We went out for another week, had sex again, then broke it off.  That’s all.”

“Was she as foul then as she is now?” demanded Lily.

“I don’t remember.  I didn’t listen to her speak.  She had an excellent rack.”

“Men,” muttered Lily.

Caradoc leaned back in his chair.  He was a rather short fellow with the feathered hair that had been all the rage in the seventies—when he died.  He hadn’t bothered to change it in Death, much to the annoyance of his father, who thought he looked ridiculously like the girly-boys on 1970s sitcoms (he did).

Caradoc didn’t come over very much.  He didn’t like their Wall.  He thought their Wall didn’t have good morals (it didn’t) and was rude and flippant (it was).  They usually met up at Marlene McKinnon’s Dead Order of the Phoenix dinners.  But he had been in the neighborhood that evening and had stopped by.

They had to watch The Wall in the evening these days.  James was working in an unpaid internship for Maya.   (He called it slavery, Lily called it a deserving punishment.)

“But she always liked to gossip,” Caradoc continued, “Always had to know exactly who was doing what and when and where and why and had to be the one to tell everyone.  I suppose her turning into a rather bad reporter does not surprise me one bit.”

“Oh, look.  Cheating,” said Lily half-heartedly.  She did not care one tiny little bit about Rita Skeeter’s former dating life.  She _did_ care that apparently her son was going to have to fight off a dragon on Tuesday.

“Yeah, yeah, big surprise,” said James unconcernedly, “I still can’t believe you shagged her.”

“As I said, I was seventeen and desperate and I did what I had to do, now will you lay off?  You should care a little more that your son has to face a dragon and is talking to Sirius in the fire.”

James’ head whipped around and he smiled benevolently, as he did whenever Harry received a letter from Sirius, spoke of Sirius or thought of Sirius.  He liked that they were friends.

“Did you know that Sirius has shagged Rita Skeeter?” he said, suddenly remembering Sirius’ extremely drunken night when he had been nineteen.

“Really?”

“Apparently she was bloody awful, although Sirius’ standards never made much sense to me.”

“Yeah, I thought you just had to be a woman for Sirius to think you were good in bed,” said Lily.

“And the fact that she had a tremendous set of breasts can’t have hurt her.  Wonder why he thought she was rubbish.”

“Will you two stop talking about that?  Please?  I don’t want to hear about Rita Skeeter anymore.  And, frankly, I don’t care about what Sirius’ standards for being good in bed are, so could we please, please, please pay a little more attention to my son, who appears to have just thrown the rulebook completely out the window.”

“Definitely takes after m—hey hey hey!  Don’t tell the enemy that he has to face dragons?  Good god, man!  Why are you so thick?  Do you not want to win this?  Come on, Harry!  Game face, game face!” yelled James.

“Once again, human decency gene: check,” said Lily.

“I thought you were fed up with the fact he just threw the rulebook out the window,” snapped James.

“Yeah, but Madame Maxime and Karkaroff and Harry all saw the dragons, which means that Cedric is the only champion who won’t know.  He’s being nice.”

“He’s going to lose.  It was his one advantage!  He’s younger than the others!” sighed James.

“Also has faced Voldemort three times, and survived, and thinks well on his feet.”

“Sounds to me like you aren’t worried that he will be facing a dragon.”

“Are you crazy?  I am petrified.  But I’m trying to convince you that he’s not going to lose because he tells Cedric Diggory that he will be up against a dragon.”

“Suit yourself.”

There was a moment of silence.

 _I feel,_ wrote The Wall, _that the effect of the task will be better if you skip his planning session with Hermione tonight.  So I am skipping it.  And there is nothing you can do about it.  :P._

“What was that?” demanded James.

_What?_

“That…colon P at the end.”

_That was an emoticon._

“A what?”

_They are all the rage.  It makes a little smiley face.  Or in this case, the face of a person sticking his tongue out at you._

“Wall, would you mind refraining from using…emoticons in the future?” asked Lily.

_Fine.  Ruin my fun.  [Here is where an emoticon of a crying face would go if I were allowed to use emoticons.]_

“Thanks.”

The Wall skipped ahead.  Harry was soaring through the air, dodging the Hungarian Horntail’s horny tail and fiery breath with a great deal of finesse.  James whooped with pride.

“That’s my boy!” he yelled, pumping his fist through the air. 

“I’m speechless,” said Lily, breathlessly.

“That is because you are so impressed by the sheer brilliance and talent that our son is using so spectacularly.”

“I think you may just be right…” said Lily.

“What was that?  I couldn’t hear you, dear,” teased James.

“Oh, stop it.”

“I am so proud of him!  He can outfly a dragon.  What can your kids do, Caradoc?”

“I believe that my two lovely, illegitimate daughters have started a rock band and dropped out of school.  Why do you ask?”

“Because my son can outfly a dragon, beat up Lord Voldemort in three different forms and…and…and—” he looked over at Lily for help.

“And he is at the top of his class in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” supplied Lily.

James paused, considering.  “Yeah, I guess that will have to do…”

“Don’t act so proud, James,” said Lily, sarcastically.

“I don’t want my son to be famous for being a nerd.  I want him to be famous for being awesome.  Like he is now,” said James, gesturing at his airborne child.

The Wall skipped ahead, and James began fuming over Karkaroff’s low score for his son’s performance, calling him a lot of bad names and acting rather like a five-year-old.  Lily smiled quietly to herself.

“What are you smiling about, Lily?” asked Caradoc, getting up to pour himself another cup of coffee.

“Well, my son just beat a dragon.  I think that makes him just about invincible now,” said Lily happily.

“Don’t say things like that, Lily.  That’s tempting fate.  Next thing you know, your son will be deader than a doornail and you won’t have any idea how that happened.  You know why it will have happened?  Because you tempted fate,” said Caradoc.

“Rubbish,” scoffed Lily, “You can’t honestly subscribe to that nonsense?”

“I saw a grim right before I died.  Didn’t think it would kill me.  It did.”

“I saw a grim every day.  I don’t think it had anything to do with how I died, though,” said James, his attention reverting back to.  “Ooh look!  The hag has returned.”

Rita Skeeter was visiting Hagrid’s class.

“Oh lord, not this again,” muttered Lily, “Is there a way that you can not show us Rita Skeeter, Wall?”

 _Not that I know of,_ replied The Wall.

“You’re lying,” snapped Caradoc, “There most certainly is a way for you to block people.”

_Yeah, but Rita Skeeter doesn’t appear that much, and when she does, there is a point to it.  I promise._

“I don’t believe you,” growled Caradoc.

_James, the man is picking on me.  Make him stop._

“Cut it out, Caradoc,” said James.

“You can’t honestly be taking orders from that thing,” said Caradoc incredulously.

“Well…so long as The Wall is showing me my son, and so long as Lily is watching his evey move, yes, I’m afraid, The Wall has me a bit by the balls.”

“Man up and take control of your Wall.  It’s ridiculous how rude it is.  When I was your age—”

“You wouldn’t have cared either way,” said James, “Young people don’t care about rudeness.  It’s our prerogative.”

“Well, I find your Wall insufferable.”

“There are House Elves at Hogwarts?”  Lily’s voice sounded very odd.

“Oh yeah.  They are lovely.  Made me a birthday cake every year starting my second year.  Lovely chaps.  So considerate and kind and _talented_ , goodness knows.”

“But…but… That’s…”

“Incredible.  Yeah.  Well, how else are you going to get a big place like Hogwarts clean?”

“The students could stop being such incredible slobs.”

“Do you honestly think that will happen?”

“I can’t believe it.”

“It’s pretty cool, yeah.”

“I was going to say it’s incredible that Hogwarts still participates in an act that has been made illegal by every civilized nation in the world.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Slave labor.”

“Oh good lord.  Lily, they like it.”

“You know what I call that?  Paternalism.  Happened all over the world when countries still had human slaves.  ‘They like it.  It’s for their own good.  They aren’t smart enough to handle freedom.’  It is complete bollocks.”

“Yeah, but complaining about it will offend them.  Anything that insults their work offends them.  Honestly Lily, it’s better not to try.  Remus did once and they stopped giving him chocolate éclairs until he apologized.”

“I can’t believe you that you think this is ok, James.  It most certainly isn’t.”

“Look, there isn’t anything I can do about it.  If anyone tries to change something, the elves get heartbroken because they think that they aren’t doing their job correctly.”

“Have you ever tried.”

“Sure.  Loads of times.  My parents too, but—”

“James Archibald Potter, are you telling me that you had a house elf?”

“Erm.”

“You did.  Didn’t you?”

“Erm.”

“No James.  It is wrong.  Wrong, I tell you and—” 

“Look, as much as I would love to hear you fight about the rights of House Elves, I would prefer to point out to you that your son just asked a girl to the Yule Ball and was rejected,” said Caradoc loudly. 

There was silence.

“Who was she?” asked Lily quietly.  To Caradoc, she sounded sad.  But James knew better.  He knew that this was the calm before the storm.

“Some Asian girl.  I didn’t catch her name.”

“Wall, will you replay it, please?” asked Lily, still quiet.

_Not if you are going to take that tone with me, young lady._

“Wall, you had better.”

_I don’t think I shall.  You are only going to get angry and throw things and I don’t think that is very healthy for you, for me, and for those sitting around you._

“Wall—”

_No._

“Wall—”

_Aboslutely not._

Lily threw a coffee mug at The Wall and it shattered.

_That wasn’t very nice._

“Lily, calm down,” said James loudly.

“I will not calm down!  This… _thing_ …is being utterly inconsiderate and abusive of its power over us and I cannot stand it any longer!”

“Wall, please,” begged James, looking between it and his wife.

_No._

“Wall, you realize that it is your duty to serve the masters of this house?” demanded Caradoc.

_You all were just talking about how it is wrong to enslave House Elves.  How am I any different?  All day, I show you the life of your son for no thanks, no recognition, and with no expectation of any form of reward._

“That is because you are a Wall,” snapped Caradoc.

_Nevertheless, I have my inalienable rights, and I choose to exercise them at the moment.  So no.  I won’t be showing you Harry’s rejection by Cho Chang because, believe it or not, Lily Potter, I am not your slave._

Lily gasped.

“I was never insinuating that you were.”

_Dear Potters,_

_I am out with some lady friends and will return when you have apologized for insulting me._

_Until then, enjoy this video of a cat chasing its tail._

_The Wall_

“I hate it,” said Lily.


	13. Well...That Happened

There were days when Lily was happy.  There were days when Lily was sad.  There were days when Lily was numb.  Today she was numb.

She had gotten up early and fixed breakfast for herself and for James.  James had eaten, gone off to his internship, and had not yet returned.  She didn’t know if he knew it was a numb day.  Usually, he figured it out within an hour of being awake with her.  But he had gone off to work, and would be at quidditch until mid-afternoon, and so she had no way of knowing.

The good thing about James was that he thawed the numb.  He made her happy, or annoyed, or amused—sentient in other words.  Severus had never been able to do that.  He had given her a wide berth on numb days.  She hadn’t minded that.  She preferred James’ method.  When the feelings came back, she felt more loved, more alive.  

But today, without him, the sensations were gone.  She hadn’t felt numb in a while.

It was like thinking about herself as though she were a stranger.  When she watched The Wall, it was as if she were watching someone else watch him. 

She was only vaguely aware of what was going on when she sat on the couch.  She was only vaguely aware that he was talking to Sirius, or that he was visiting the kitchens, or that he was alone with Krum on the grounds. 

She wondered why Barty Crouch had gone mad.  She wondered what could have pushed him over the edge.  Maybe it was his son.  She wondered if she would go mad watching Harry, sometimes.  She was always so nervous.  She wasn’t normally a nervous person.  She was usually very calm, very easy going (despite what she appeared to be when she was around James).  But watching Harry changed all that…

She didn’t understand what she was seeing.  Then, she realized that she was seeing nothing at all.  The Wall had turned pitch black. 

“Wall?”  Even to her own ears, her voice sounded dead.

The Wall did not respond.

“Wall?” she said, even more desperately.

It remained blank.

She began to cry.  She did not know why she was crying.  She was too detached from the emotions running through the rest of her body.  Maybe she felt as though Harry had died and had gone into a state of shock and horror.  But her thoughts remained perfectly calm, as though it were an entity completely independent from the rest of her.

_Stop crying, Lily.  He hasn’t died.  He’s gone into Dumbledore’s penseive and I can’t show you what’s going on there.  He’ll be out in a moment._

Indeed, Harry reappeared.  The tears kept flowing though.  Perhaps because she was numb she could feel more acutely her own body calming down because of the stress hormones her tears had released.  No wonder babies fell asleep after crying, if it was this soothing.

Her body longed for a baby.  Not one inside her, no, she had had that and her body may be ready for another, but it knew it wouldn’t necessarily get one.  No, she longed for a baby to hold and cradle and caress and feed and play with.  Sometimes, when James was at quidditch, she went to the Hospital Ward in A where all the babies who died when they were about one year old went.  Most of them did not have parents yet.  She would pick one that was about the size and weight of her own baby and cradle and play with it.  She had thought that she had wanted it emotionally.  She had been wrong.

She watched Molly Weasley fussing over her child, but did not feel the usual pang of jealousy.  She watched Harry heading down to the quidditch pitch for the final task and did not feel worried.  She watched him moving through the maze as though he were a character in some surreal dream.  She watched as he struggled with acromantulas, sphinxes and blast-ended skrewts.  She watched as Cedric Diggory helped him limp towards the triwizard cup. 

Then, once again, The Wall went blank—but not black this time.  Blank.  Then a notice appeared on it.

_Lily Potter, kindly report to the front desk._

She stood automatically and her feet took her to the closest lift.  Her hand pressed the lobby button.  She waited.  Then her feet stepped out of the lift again and led her down a hallway.

Henry stood behind the desk.  He looked baffled, but pointed her down another hallway.  She moved in the designated direction.

“Ahh, here you are, Lily.  Sit down, sit down,” said Maya, gesturing her to a seat.  She sat.

There were four people in the room.  James was one of them, Cedric Diggory was another and she believed the third was Bertha Jorkins.  But she did not know who the last stooped, old man was. 

James was watching her, and a flicker of acknowledgement appeared in his eyes.  He reached for her hand, and took it.

“Now that you are all here, allow me to explain,” said Maya, “you are the most recent victims of Lord Voldemorts wand.  Well, the wizard in question has been brought back to a corporeal form but Peter Pettigrew, who used his wand to kill Cedric.  Currently,” she glanced at a hand-mirror on her desk, “he has Harry Potter tied to the tombstone of his late father.  In a moment or two, he will release Harry and the two will duel.  During this duel, they will cast a spell against one another and their wands will connect because they share a magical core.  They will struggle for a moment or two, then Voldemort’s wand will be forced to regurgitate the shadows of the people it has killed—in other words, shadows of you.  You will not be brought back to life, per se, but you will return momentarily to advise your son to break the connection while you distract Voldemort so that he might escape using the triwizard cup—which was a portkey. 

“Now, I believe James was the first to die among you, so I believe he should do the honors—”

“No,” Lily said.  Everyone stared at her.  “I want to.”

“All right…” said Maya slowly, “You and James will have to trade places in line then.  You shall come out last.”  Lily nodded.

Maya stood and carried the mirror over to Cedric.  He looked in it.  She placed the glass against his forehead and he fell asleep.  She did the same with the old man, then with Bertha Jorkins and at last with James.  When James had collapsed unconscious in his chair she turned to Lily. 

Lily felt a chill run down her spine as the mirror touched her forehead.  Then, miraculously, she was standing in the middle of a golden cage in a graveyard.  Voldemort was staring at her, terror in his bright red eyes.  Harry looked tired, but she saw bravery and stubbornness and hope in the eyes that they shared.

“When the connection is broken,” she said, “we will linger only for moments…but we will give you time…you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts…do you understand, Harry?”

“Yes.”  Harry’s response seemed to take every ounce of effort.

“Harry…” whispered Cedric, “take my body back, will you?  Take my body back to my parents…”

“I will.”  Harry’s face was contorted with the effort of maintaining the connection.

James glanced at Lily, and then spoke.  “Do it now,” he whispered, “be ready to run…do it now…”

“NOW!” yelled Harry.  Lily, James, Cedric, Bertha and the old man rushed towards Voldemort, blocking his vision.  Lily turned her head to see her son tearing away.

Then she woke up. 

“Well done,” said Maya, simply.

“Can we go?” asked Bertha, “I have a game of Mah Jong I want to get back to.”

“Go right ahead.  James, it has been lovely working with you—you are free.  Cedric, if you return to the main hall, I will help you set yourself up.”

“I’ll swing by later,” said James, “help you get acclimated.”

He took Lily’s hand and led her towards the lift.

“Numb day?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but it’s getting better.”

He kissed her cheek gently.  “Unless I am much mistaken, that is the fourth time that we have stuck it to Voldemort.  I think that’s some kind of record, don’t you?”

“Harry’s done it more.”

“Harry is in a league of his own.  And besides, he didn’t come back from the dead to do it, did he?”

“He would have to die first, wouldn’t he.”

“Shall we go home and celebrate our invincible son.”

“Lets.”

“Lil?”

“Yes?”

“When was the last time you felt numb?”

“The day we died.”

“And before then?”

“The day we made Peter our secret keeper.”

“And before then?”

“The day Harry was most likely conceived.”

“Are you seeing a pattern here?  Life changing moments are heralded by your numbness?”

Lily smiled.

“Maybe I have seer blood in me.”

“Don’t tell Ariana or Cassandra.  Maybe they will induct you into their ridiculous society after all.”


	14. I Don’t Know, Ariana, but that is a Worthy Question

I have been sitting here for several minutes, trying to figure out a proper introduction to the following character.  The thing is, he's someone that is difficult to describe effectively.

The words "nice chap" come to mind when you hear his name.  He was a good and loyal son, a hard worker, a decent citizen of the world.

Most girls project all of their sadness and romantic angst on to him: he is a poor, unfortunate soul who died too young, before he could admit his to his girlfriend that he truly loved her.

I am, of course, talking about Cedric Diggory.

Well, ladies and gents, let me just tell you this: Cedric was not feeling too good.

All of his friends were still alive and he was living all alone in the D section of Death.  He lived in a tiny, cramped, New York-style apartment in a massive building at 47 place de la Chapelle Orientale.  His grandparents lived over an hour away from his house, and yet he could take a lift and be pretty much anywhere else in Death in about five seconds.

Poor dear.

He had hardly been dead a Death-day, and was already hating it.  What would the rest of eternity be like?  He imagined that things would get easier when his friends and parents died, but didn’t want them to die just to keep him company.  What kind of thought was that?  Sure, he was lonely…but he could suck it up for the next…hundred-odd years, couldn’t he?

So, he contented himself with decorating his apartment in a way that was normal for an eighteen-year-old boy. 

He was so preoccupied with what color he wanted his walls to be that he did not notice when a piece of paper appeared in the toaster that sat in his living room.  He did not notice when another note appeared because he was trying to figure out if the armchair he was transfiguring was sufficiently comfortable.

He didn’t notice that the letters had appeared until they had overflowed onto his coffee table.

The first read

_To: Mr. Cedric Diggory,_

_47 Place de la Chappelle Orientale Apt. 97461_

_45,235,649 D_

_Death_

_Dear Cedric,_

_We would love to have you over for tea.  Please feel free to stop by any time this afternoon._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_Lily Potter_

_Mr. and Mrs. James Potter_

_210 Rue Colbert_

_7777777 P_

_Death_

The second read

_Dear Cedric,_

_On second thought, now might not be the best of times.  My husband is throwing a fit over how idiotic the ministry of magic is and I doubt he will be done any time soon.  Maybe in…an hour?_

_Lily_

The third read

_Dear Cedric,_

_I have sent James for a walk around the block.  He should be fine in a few minutes._

_Lily_

The subsequent letters continued on this bend for a while, but Cedric got the idea.  He hurried out of his apartment, glad to be free of the cramped, dark living room.  He took the nearest lift (just outside the building, conveniently enough) and found himself strolling up the Potters’ walkway in no time at all.

He knocked on the door.

“It’s perpetually unlocked,” called someone from inside.  He entered.

“Look, I am not saying that Dumbledore _had_ to make him a prefect.  I am quite proud that he is taking after me, yet again.  I am just saying that Dumbledore _should_ have made him a prefect because he would have done an excellent job,” James was saying, loudly.

“I don’t know why we are having an argument about this.  We both agree that he should have gotten the job.  Hello, Cedric.  It is lovely to see you.  How are you holding up?” asked Lily.

Lily and James Potter were sitting in living room that was covered in candles and incense.  A little blonde girl was sitting on a mat in the middle of the room (she appeared to have pushed the coffee table aside) and was meditating.  But the most intriguing part about the room was not in any way related to its occupants: upon the wall opposite him, was a moving image of what was going on in Life.  It was currently portraying a party in some unknown room that celebrated, according to the large banner, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger’s having become Gryffindor Prefects.

“I’m doing well, thank you Lily.  Erm…who is this?” he asked, sitting down in an armchair (which he noted was infinitely more comfortable than the one he had been working on at home).

“This is Professor Dumbledore’s little sister.  She lives somewhere in that monstrously large building you live in, but spends quite a bit of time here.  She also has turned our living room into her yoga studio for the moment, which I am finding _,”_ she raised her voice, “ _highly annoying.”_

Ariana was too deep in her meditation to respond.

“I didn’t know Dumbledore had a sister,” said Cedric.

“Oh, well, I think that Professor Dumbledore didn’t like talking about it because he killed her,” said James, leaning back and watching The Wall.

“ _What?”_   Cedric was shocked.

“Oh, it was an accident, James.  And she’s better off.  Let’s not talk about that just now.  We wanted to know how you are coping, Cedric.  It must be hard, having predeceased your friends and relatives.”

Cedric nodded slowly.  He didn’t particularly feel like talking about it though—especially not while he was here and he had more important things to talk about.  “How are you doing that?” he asked, gesturing to The Wall.

“Oh.  It’s the northern facing wall in every living room.  You just tap it so that it wakes up and shows the main menu, then again to get to a search bar, and then you write whom you want to watch in Life.  It is quite nice,” said James, “although our specimen is…colorful, I would say.  Wouldn’t you?”

Writing appeared on The Wall.  _If that is a backhanded way of saying that I am rude and unforgiving, James Potter, you will regret it._  

“I am implying no such thing, my good…Wall…no such thing at all,” said James, jovially, “It’s great though.  You can watch any quidditch game you like, in Life or in Death (although Lily doesn’t let me watch here because she doesn’t appreciate quidditch like most _normal_ human beings).”

“So I can watch Hogwarts games?” asked Cedric.

“Yep.  Any Hogwarts game ever, as a matter of fact.  When Sirius dies, I am going to make him watch the one game he missed because of a detention.  It’ll be fun!”

“As long as I don’t have to suffer through it again, that is fine by me,” said Lily.  “It’s bad enough you make me come to all of your games.”

“We’ve only had one so far, and you enjoyed it.”

“Only because you all were reciting the best excerpts of Shakespearean dialogue every time you scored,” sniffed Lily.

“If that’s what you want to believe, go right ahead,” said James.

“There are quidditch matches in Death?” asked Cedric.

“Of course there are!  You think all these dead witches and wizards could hang around together forever and _not_ start a quidditch league?  The DQL!  Death Quidditch League!  Best thing ever, although very hard to put together a good side, much less even get seeded in tournaments.  But, new people are dying every day, so maybe in a couple thousand years…” James looked wistful.

“How do you try out for teams?” asked Cedric excitedly.

“Well…there’s headquarter offices in every region of Death…and sometimes there are flyers for tryouts on streetlamps (that’s how I found my team)…I’d contact Gideon Prewett, actually.  He’s sort of the go-to man.  He is on the refereeing squad—as well as his own team—so he is pretty damn knowledgeable.”

“Ooh!  I love that girl!” came an excited voice.  Cedric started and turned quickly to see the little blonde girl pointing up at another blonde girl on The Wall.

“Who is that, Ariana?” asked Lily.

“Luna Lovegood.  She’s wonderful,” said Ariana, bouncing up and down.

“Not Xenophilius and what’s-her-name’s kid?” said James, incredulously.

“Yes.  She’s brilliant.”

“She’s reading a magazine upside down,” muttered James.

“She’s…got color…” said Lily.

“She’s a bit weird,” said Cedric, “She’s in my girlfriend’s house and apparently has no sense of when to say what…”

“Who else do we know who is like that,” said Lily, looking pointedly at her husband.  He ignored her.

“Oh…hello, Harry,” said a nervous voice on the wall.  “Um…bad time?”  The four occupants of the room glanced back up at The Wall and Cedric groaned internally.  It was Cho.  He had known that she had had a crush on Harry.  And it wasn’t as though they had been married or anything, but he had expected her to take a little time before trying to go out with Harry. 

“What the hell is all over that compartment?” demanded James loudly.

It was only then that Cedric noticed that Harry, Ginny, Neville and Luna were covered in a strange green substance.

“I have no idea,” said Lily, apprehensively.  “Do you think it’s poisonous?”

_If you all had paid attention, you would know that it is not poisonous because Neville Longbottom said “Stinksap’s not poisonous.”  But it’s not as though you need to pay attention or anything.  It’s only how I spend my days, unpaid and unappreciated._

“Oh, stop it, Wall.  We appreciate you,” snapped Lily.

This was a big mistake.

_You appreciate me, eh?  Well, try this on for size!_

To their horror, The Wall turned bright green.  Then, it began showing a montage.

“What on earth…?” said James, “You had to go and piss off The Wall, didn’t you, Lily…”

Cedric was intrigued.  He watched carefully.  He knew who was the central figure, but couldn’t for the life of him remember her name.  It was a colleague of his dad’s, a rather crazy woman with cankles who…who….

Piss it, he couldn’t remember.

She was short and looked rather like a toad.  She was giving as speech at Hogwarts.  Then she was in a classroom, passing out textbooks, then she was telling the students that they wouldn’t be performing practical magic that year, then she was giving some poor kid detention where he was slicing open the back of his hand.

“This is barbaric!” exclaimed James, “I have had many a detention in my day and I was _never_ asked to mutilate myself.  That hag!”

“I loathe that woman,” said Lily, “I hated working with her, I hated her voice, I hated her cats (and you know how I love cats).”

“She really shouldn’t wear that much pink.  It makes her eyes look more buglike,” said Ariana.

“Who is it?” asked Cedric.

“Dolores Jane Umbridge,” replied all three simultaneously.

The Wall was going too quickly, though.  The leaves had already fallen off the trees and they had only been at Hogwarts for about four seconds.  Umbridge had been named _High Inquisitor_ _of Hogwarts_ by the Ministry. She had disbanded all the quidditch teams (James and Cedric spluttered in horror).  She kicked Harry off the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.

“WALL,” bellowed James, “STOP THIS INSTANT!”

The Wall paused.

 _What?  I was only playing the bits you would have paid attention to anyway,_ it wrote, innocently.

“Play at a normal pace or I’ll…or I’ll…”

“Paint you green,” said Ariana.

_If I were capable of snorting, I would snort in disdain._

“Wall, please, we do apologize.  We do pay attention, we promise,” said Lily, placatingly.

 _Well…I am_ not _backtracking.  That was very difficult to put together.  I don’t feel like going through the stuff I tossed aside to fill in the bits you missed._

“That’s fine,” said James, “What the hell happened with my son and quidditch?”

_Oh, he beat up Draco Malfoy in front of the entire school._

There was a pause.  Then

“Well, that’s almost worth it,” said James. 

“James, are you condoning an act of violence on the part of our son?” demanded Lily.

“Lily, think, and answer me honestly.  Would you not really, _really_ enjoy watching our son kick the crap out of Draco Malfoy?”

Lily thought for a moment.  “If it ever happens, Wall, will you make sure to save it forever for our viewing pleasure?”

The Wall did not respond.  The Potters were quite glad it didn’t, because if it had, it would have detracted from them watching their son’s extremely awkward first kiss with Cho Chang.

“I feel just a bit like we are invading his privacy…” said James.

“If you don’t mind, I think I will go check out those quidditch teams,” Cedric managed to say.  He was in a state of profound heartbreak and didn’t want to stick around.  He thanked the Potters for reaching out to him and departed.

“Poor kid,” said Lily.

“Yeah.  Pity he died without company,” agreed James.

“I was thinking it’s a pity that he had to watch his girlfriend kissing our son.”

“Oh.  Right.  Well…she wasn’t going to wait for him to come back from the dead, was she?”

“It doesn’t matter.  It has to be hard.”

“Yeah.  But he’ll let his feelings out in quidditch.  That’s what I did whenever you said no.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“That’s so sweet, darling.”

“Oh god,” said Ariana, “Will you two leave it be so a girl can have some peace and quiet?”

“Go to Cassandra’s house if you don’t like it,” said Lily, in between the kisses she was sharing with her husband.

“I think I will.  I hate young people some times.  Why are they so bloody horny?”


	15. Temper, Temper

One evening, during a live orchestra performance of the 1812 Overture—which is, incidentally a marvelous piece of music that you should all listen to at some point in your lives—a young violinist in the orchestra began to feel a bit…excited.  He had never felt so inspired in his life as he sat in his chair.  He couldn’t resist the temptation to act upon his inspiration and leapt up and began performing an interpretive dance around the stage.  The orchestra, being quite professional, continued playing, although he got some particularly nasty looks from the cellist who sat first chair.  In any event, in the midst of his interpretive dance, he had the extreme misfortune to leap in front of the cannons (which, the reader should know go off during the performance of the 1812 Overture) right as they were firing.  The poor young violinist was blown to bits and his entrails were sent flying over the stunned, but very moved, audience. 

When this young violinist arrived in Death, he decided that it was time to hang up his…bow…and try something that he had never really had the opportunity to do in life.  Because there were so many intelligent and intellectual people who had already died, he figured he had a good opportunity to fulfill his ultimate dream: to start a club of intellectuals who lived in a flying brain and who would travel through the skies being intellectual and awesome.  So, he began his quest, and was, most unfortunately, unsuccessful.

Most of the intellectuals who had already died either had had enough of being intellectuals (rather as he had had enough of being a violinist; Voltaire was very into extreme sports these days, which disappointed our young violinist), and so the poor young fellow was rather stuck. 

His next-door neighbor recommended that he go door-to-door and do his best to enlist some likely candidates.  And so began our young violinist’s quest to create STEFAN.  STEFAN does not actually stand for anything.  His soul-sister, when the two had fantasized about starting this brain, had insisted that it be called STEFAN, and so he had decided to honor her wish.

Therefore, it is for this reason that the young violinist found himself on the doorstep of 210 rue Colbert one afternoon.

He knocked on the door.  It opened automatically, as though it had not been closed properly.

“Hello?” he called, apprehensively.

“Hello?” came a reply from someone who sounded like a woman.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Who are you?” came another voice, this one male.

“I am Chris Buck,” replied the violinist.

“Did we meet in life?” asked the first voice.

“No, I don’t believe that we did.  May I ask with whom I might be speaking?"

“I am Lily Potter, and this is my husband, James.”

“How do you do.  I would like to take only a few minutes of your time to talk about your interest in a club that I am hoping to form.”

“Do come in, Chris,” called Lily. 

Chris entered.  He found himself standing in a living room of moderate sized.  There was a couch (on which was sprawled a dark-haired, bespectacled man), several arm chairs, a coffee table with the usual toaster.  A redhead woman was standing, ironing.  Both man and woman seemed to be watching their Wall, on which was displayed a dark-haired, bespectacled boy who looked rather like the man on the couch.  Chris decided he was either their son, or the man’s brother.

“Good lord, what is it with dead people being ginger.  I swear half of our acquaintances are,” said James, glancing up at Chris.

“My sister is even more ginger than I am…” Chris muttered.

“Well, she isn’t here, is she?” mumbled James.

“James, stop being rude,” said Lily, “would you like a cup of tea, by any chance?  Coffee?  Do sit down.”

“Tea sounds lovely,” said Chris.

Lily put her iron down and hurried into the kitchen. 

“I hope I haven’t bothered you at a bad time,” said Chris to James.

“Ehh…it depends on your definition of a bad time.  You certainly are distracting me from some rather depressing realities.”

“Like what?” asked Chris, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Well, my son somehow had a dream where he was a snake that attacked his best mate’s dad (who he is now visiting in a hospital because a snake attacked him).  _My_ best mate is in a state of alcoholic depression because he is living in his parents’ house and can’t leave because he is an escaped (and innocent) convict.  It’s just saddening.”

“Oh, lighten up, James.  It’s Christmas for them.  Christmas is a happy time and he is getting to spend it with the Weasleys.  Better than the years he spent with my sister, I can tell you that,” said Lily.  She handed Chris his tea.

“Now Chris, what is it that you would like to tell us about?” she asked.

“Well,” said Chris, straightening up in his chair, “I would like to tell you about STEFAN, the flying brain—“

“The what?” asked James.

“He was about to tell us, James,” admonished Lily, “Continue, Chris.”

“Well, it has been my dream for a very long time to begin a club of sorts.  The members of the club would gather to study, and discuss, and learn in one another’s company.”

“In other words, a club of nerds?” grumbled James.

“James,” said Lily.

“Well, I—“ said Chris but James interrupted again.

“Get him, Padfoot,” he said, his eyes trained on The Wall.

Two dark-haired men were glaring at one another across a kitchen table.  One was gaunt with long hair in curtains around his face, the other had cropped, but extremely greasy hair.

“What’s going on?” asked Lily.

“Harry has to take occlumency lessons,” replied her husband, “from _Snape_.”

“I’ve always wanted to study occlumency,” said Lily.  She was determined to ignore the fact that Harry would be spending even more time with Snape, and that she and James would therefore have to watch him even more.  She hated watching Snape, and she knew James did too—but for a different reason.  He hated Snape for the fact of him; she hated remembering what Sev had become.

“Well,” said Chris, “if you were interested in joining STEFAN, you would be able to study occlumency as much as you pleased.  That’s the fun of STEFAN.  You might be curious about, say, Biology, but you don’t know too much about it.  You could find your STEFAN counterpart who adores biology and they can teach you all about it.”

“That sounds—” began James.

“Fascinating,” interrupted Lily, “It’s a truly intriguing concept.  How many have joined so far?”

“About four…myself included.  Dead people have surprisingly full schedules.

“When did you die?” asked James.

“I died about four Death-Days ago.  I don’t know how many months that is in Life, but a few.”

“Did you leave family behind?” asked Lily.

“A sister and my parents,” said the violinist, sadly, “but I have no regrets about having died young.  My death was…inspiring to many, I believe.”

“How did you die?” asked James.

“A cannon blew me to bits,” said Chris.

There was a pause.

“Yes.  Inspiring,” muttered James.

“Please forgive him,” said Lily, glaring at James, “He’s a bit exhausted.  And he hates seeing that Sirius is having a bad time.  Doesn’t worry so much about our son, but if his best mate has a problem, he gets all moody."

“I worry about Harry.  I am worried that he just made an idiot of himself in front of Cho Chang.  God, he should know when she is expecting him to ask her out.  That’s just basic.  This does not bode well for him.”

“But you don’t get depressed.”

“What is there to be depressed about?  Harry is a resilient person.  Sirius was once, but I don’t think is anymore.  Azkaban beat him down, not to mention the whole catastrophe that happened before that.”

“Catastrophe?” asked Lily, confused

“That whole bit where he thought he was saving our lives but really was causing our doom to impend a little faster.”

“I don’t know if that sentence works, Darli—”

“Oh…you know what I mean.”

“Actually, I believe you can use the verb impend that way,” said Chris, “although I might be wrong.  I am afraid I would bring musical expertise and my knowledge of ukele and Hawaiian history to STEFAN.”

“Hawaiian history?  There’s a history of Hawaii other than ‘there were these islands and volcanos.  Then people came.  Then Americans came and colonized.  Then it became a state?’” demanded James.

“Hawaii actually has a very rich history…”

“I’m sure,” muttered James.

“What made you so interested in Hawaii, Chris?” said Lily loudly.

“Well, I am from Honolulu,” replied Chris.

“There are gingers in Hawaii?” asked James.

“James, please—“

“At least two: me and my sister,” smiled Chris.  He was painfully aware that he had come at a bad time, but was unsure of how precisely to extract himself.  While James was clearly in an atrocious mood, Lily seemed genuinely interested in STEFAN and he couldn’t just leave the potential fifth member of his group like this.

“Not to mention,” James muttered, “that the man I hate most on this earth is verbally and emotionally abusing my son.  _That_ makes me crazy."

Lily didn’t say anything.  She was looking at The Wall.  Chris followed her gaze. 

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion!” jeered the greasy-haired man from before.

“Yeah?” said the same dark-haired, bespectacled boy from before, “Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment.”

“Then you will find yourself easy prêt for the Dark Lord!  Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves who cannot control of their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked easily—weak people, in other words—they stand no chance against his powers!  He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!”

“Get over yourself, Snivellus,” snapped James, “It’s always been like you, hasn’t it, to pick on people who can’t defend themselves.  I’m dead and Sirius is not in the room.  Stop being such an ass.”

Lily said nothing.

The Wall skipped ahead.  Chris hated when Walls did that, but he understood that it had to happen.

An Asian girl was sobbing into her napkin.  “Go on, leave!  I don’t know why you asked me out in the first place if you’re going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me…How many are you meeting after Hermione?” she hiccuped at the boy.

James groaned.  “Smooth, son.  Very smooth.”

“Oh, Harry, you didn’t!” exclaimed Lily.

“Would you have started crying if I had told you I was meeting, oh…Mary Macdonald after our date?” asked James, nonchalantly.

“I wouldn’t have cried.  I might have ripped your head off.  Stuck pins in a voodoo doll of you, but I have more dignity than to cry,” said Lily.

“Good.  I hate it when girls cry.  Why do they do it all the bloody time?”

“I don’t know, James,” said Lily, dryly, “it must be all that estrogen flowing through our bodies.”

“Estro-what?”

“Estrogen.  It’s a hormone in women.  The female testosterone, if you will.  Except not, because there is another female hormone whose name is eluding me…”

“I really don’t care,” said James.

“You should.”

“Why?”

“Because it is what makes me curvaceous and lovely."

James snorted.

“Oh no, not her again,” moaned Lily.

James and Chris glanced up at The Wall.  James also moaned.  “What are you doing, mate?”

Chris didn’t understand what the problem was.  The boy had sat down at a table with three women.  He didn’t know which one of them was the _her_ Lily had been referring to.

“He’s doing an _interview?_ ” gasped Lily a moment later.

“Wow.  I’m impressed.  I never would have thought to do that, if I were him,” said James.

“I would like to point out that it was not Harry who thought of it, but Hermione.”

“Yeah well, I’m also pretty damn sure that none of my mates would have thought of it either.”

“Not even Remus?”

“Remus least of all.  He was never very keen on letting the public know what was going on through the mass media.  I don’t know about what he’s like now, but when we were young, he _really_ distrusted the Prophet.  He dreamed about starting his own paper one day.  Pity wizards are idiots about people with his condition,” said James.  He stood and entered the kitchen.

“Our friend Remus,” said Lily, “is a werewolf.  A very kind and intelligent man, but a werewolf, so most wizards don’t trust him and it is getting to be very difficult for him to find a job.”

“That’s a pity.  He is still living?” asked Chris.

“Yes.  He’s only in his thirties, but he looks and acts much older.  He’s had a rough life.  Every time it could possibly get easier, it gets about ten times harder.  When he dies, he might be interested in your group.”

“Really?  He’s intellectually stimulated?” asked Chris eagerly.

“I kind of resent that,” said James.  He was standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“What?” asked Chris.

“Your use of the phrase ‘intellectually stimulated.’  I mean, I’m a smart guy, I know a lot of things that I don’t ever end up using practically, but because I am not a nerd like you two gingers, I am not ‘intellectually stimulated.’”

“I don’t believe that Chris was implying that, darling,” said Lily.

“I didn’t mean to say anything that would lead you to believe that I felt that way,” said Chris, “I simply wished to convey an interest in your friend Remus’ potential desire to pursue greater heights of nerdiness when he dies.”

“Well, you should say it that way.  It’s less offensive,” said James, retreating to the kitchen once more.

“Unless of course someone is offended by the word nerdiness in that sentence, James,” called Lily.

“But I don’t care about that.  I’m not in the slightest offended by it and I’m the one who had a problem in the first place,” James called right back.

“But what if _I’m_ offended by the word nerdiness?” replied Lily.

“Well.  You are a nerd, love.  So you should suck it up and get used to it.  I am also intrigued by the fact that you aren’t insulted by the word ‘mudblood’ and all that it implies, but you _do_ have a problem with being called a nerd.”

“It’s something that makes me quirky and charming.”  Lily turned back to Chris.  “What was I saying?”

“You have a friend who might be interested in joining STEFAN…” prompted the ginger Hawaiian.

“What does STEFAN stand for anyway?” asked James.  He was back and was carrying a very large bowl of ice cream.

“Excuse me?”  Chris felt a little blindsided.

“STEFAN.  It’s not your name, is it?”

“It’s the name of our headquarters.”

“What does it stand for?”

“I don’t think it stands for anything…”

“Well, that’s silly.  Aren’t you starting a club for intellectuals.  You couldn’t think of one?  Studying Together Exemplifies Fun And Necessity, maybe?”

“Maybe.  I don’t know.  My sister insisted that we call it STEFAN, but she never explained why she felt that way.”

“Good lord.  This is silly,” muttered James.

“No it isn’t,” said Lily quickly, “I think that it is a lovely idea.”

“You would.”

“There is no need to be rude, James.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Oh…eat your ice cream.”

“I will, thanks.”

“I am sorry about him.  He isn’t usually like this.  He’s just distressed.  That’s all,” said Lily.

“It’s quite all right,” said Chris. 

“In any event—”

“What the hell happened to that girl’s face?” demanded James.

“Oh for goodness’ sake, James.  Could you stop interrupting?” snapped Lily.

“Well, the word _sneak_ is written in pimples on her face.  I just want to know what happened.  Wall, why did you skip it?”

 _Forgive me for not being as intrigued as you in the changes in the human body,_ wrote The Wall.

“But what happened?”

_She turned in your son’s illegal Defense Against the Dark Arts group.  So Hermione jinxed her._

“I always knew I liked that girl,” said James, shoving some ice cream into his mouth.

“That’s awful.  Hermione crossed a line,” said Lily.

“Why?” asked James in the way that one does when one’s mouth is full of ice cream.

“We’ve talked about how impressionable teenage girls are.  Imagine having to go about with the words _sneak_ in pimples on your face.”

“I’d be more upset with what the pimples were saying than with the fact that they were there, if that’s what you are getting at.”

“I’m saying _both_ are probably going to give that girl a severe need of therapy,” said Lily.

“She should have thought about that before turning in Dumbledore’s Army.”

“It occurs to me that Harry takes after me, once again.  He started a club for defense nerds.  I am about to join a club for adult nerds.”

“Now you are just trying to annoy me,” growled James.

“Well, you can’t say you haven’t deserved it.”

“I—Wall, why did you just go black?”

_Your son is in a pensieve._

“And you can’t show us what’s going on with him?”

_Nope.  He’s in someone’s thoughts right now.  I can only do places._

“Can you skip ahead?”

The words had not even left James’ mouth when Snape appeared.  He was holding Harry’s arm, very tightly.

“So,” said Snape, “ _So_ …been enjoying yourself, Potter?”

“N-no…”

“Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?”

“I—didn’t—”

Snape threw Harry away from himself.  The boy fell to the floor.

“You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!” bellowed the man.

“No,” said Harry, desperately, “No, of course I w—”

“Get out, get out, I don’t want to see you in this office ever again!” screeched Snape.  He reached for a jar of something green and funny-looking and hurled it at Harry’s retreating figure.

Lily and James stared at one another.

They both knew exactly what Harry had seen.

James stood up and walked out of the house.  Chris saw him walk swiftly up the street and round a corner.

“I’m sorry.  Now is not the best of times,” said Lily.  Her voice sounded suddenly very colorless.  “If you give me your address, I will get in touch.  Besides, James is too much of a jock to be interested.  He’s probably off with his beating at bludgers right now.”

“Of course!” said Chris.  He wrote his address on a piece of paper.  Lily showed him to the door and he hurried off.

He was thrilled about having gained another member of STEFAN.  But he wondered why it was that the Potters didn’t talk about what had just happened to their son.  They seemed to communicate so well, and yet…  He shook his head.  It was none of his business.  He moved over to the next house, walked up the walkway and knocked on the door.


	16. The Black Mood Continues

James had only been in bad a mood for this long once before, and that had been during the infamous tree-frog incident of 1976.  He blamed both on Severus Snape. 

During the tree-frog incident, hair had been ripped forcibly from the top of his head, leaving him looking rather like a monk for well over a week (it had taken him a while to figure out how to brew a hair-growth potion and Sirius, Slughorn, Lily and Madam Pomfrey had refused to help him because he looked highly amusing); his voice had been jinxed to sound like an oboe; he could only move down the halls of Hogwarts if he tap-danced; and he had fallen flat on his face and bruised his chin rather badly. 

The tree-frog incident had left him feeling embarrassed, ashamed and grumpy.

This time, he had done nothing to humiliate himself.  He was simply infuriated, down to his very toes.  To be fair, he didn’t know how the rage had started.  He just knew that it had been perpetuated by Snape.

He had expected to sleep it off after yesterday, when Harry had taken a trip into Snape’s memories and stumbled upon the day that he had, most inadvertently, ruined Lily’s oldest friendship.  He had failed.

He had hoped that watching Harry continue his shenanigans at Hogwarts would maybe distract him.  That was not happening. 

His son was currently trying desperately to get the truth out of James’ two best friends—who were not being particularly helpful. 

And it was not like he could talk it over with Lily.

So he was forced to sit and stew, glaring up at The Wall.

“Knock knock.  Who’s at the perpetually unlocked door today, I wonder.  Why, it’s Ariana and Fabian!  How lovely!  Do come in!” came Ariana’s voice from the doorway.  Lily glanced up at the pair of them and waved slightly.  James nodded to them.

“Wow.  The pair of you look about as lifeless as…one would think everyone in Death would be,” said Fabian sitting down.

“It’s been a bad few days,” said Lily.  She summoned some tea for the guests.

“You must be having a bad day if you are summoning,” said Ariana.

“Yes, well.”

“Wow,” said James.

They looked at him.  He tried to ignore Lily’s furrowed brows.

“What?” asked Lily, slightly defensively.

“I’m really impressed with Fabian’s nephews, that’s all.”  He motioned towards The Wall.

Fred and George Weasley were flying away from Hogwarts, laughing at the top of their lungs.

“Take after Gideon,” grunted Fabian.

“Listen, we have a very, extremely, unbelievably important question to place before you two,” said Ariana.

“And that would be…?” Lily replied.

“Well, as you know, Gideon and Fabian’s Death-day is March twenty second.”

“That sounds about right.”

“As you also know, Life-dates don’t exactly hold water in Death because of the fluctuations in the space-time continuum.”

“I believe you, although I have no idea if that is true,” said Lily sipping her tea.

“So, based on those two facts, it can be determined that we have no idea when March twenty second actually is.  I mean, you guys died on Halloween—which is not diffi—”

“I always knew Minerva McGonagall was an excellent woman,” said Fabian.

“Stop interrupting me,” snapped Ariana, “This is important.”

“What did she do?” asked Lily, turning to The Wall—which was no longer showing whatever had prompted Fabian’s statement.

“She just told Peeves—who was unscrewing a crystal chandelier—that it unscrews the other way.  Very sporting woman, I believe.”  Fabian glanced at James.  James thought it was best not to reply.

“In any case,” said Ariana loudly, “your Death-day is not difficult to find, because it is on Halloween, but for those of us mere mortals who died on inferior dates, we have _no_ idea how to celebrate the days that we spent in life and the days that we passed into Death.”

“Have you petitioned Maya?” asked Lily.

“I have.  She laughed at me and said that I was a smart girl and could think of a solution myself.”

“And have you?” prompted Lily.

“I have.  I believe that, should we choose, we should select a corresponding day in Death and make it our un-Death-Day.”

James snorted.

“What?” demanded Ariana.

“An un-Death-Day?”

“Well, I didn’t come up with it entirely on my own,” said Ariana defensively.

“You were thinking of unbirthdays in _Alice in Wonderland_?” asked Lily.

“Well…yes…only because of the whole disparallelization—”

“I’m pretty damn sure that that is not a word, Ariana,” said Fabian gently.  She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Because of the whole disparallelization of Life time and Death time, it just doesn’t make sense for every day to be an un-Death-Day because what if you accidentally celebrate your real Death-Day?”

“What happens if your un-Death-Day falls on your real Death Day?” demanded James.

“Well…then you can celebrate both.  But that’s not the point!”

“What is the point, Ariana?” asked Lily.

“Holy crap.  Hagrid has a brother,” said James loudly.

Everyone turned towards The Wall.  A giant was pulling a pine tree as far as it could out of the ground.

“Oh, _Hagrid,”_ said Lily, leaning back in her chair.

“Look, who cares that Hagrid has a brother.  I am trying to make a point here!” said Ariana, even more loudly.

“Don’t say that.  It’s very important that Hagrid has found his brother…even if his brother has no comprehension of human emotions, enjoys terrorizing living creatures and can’t speak any human language,” said Fabian.

“Except that we aren’t talking about Hagrid’s brother, we are talking about _your_ brother!” snapped Ariana, “You are supposed to be helping me.  Not hindering me.”

“Get on with it,” barked James.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” asked Ariana.

“ _Ariana!_ ” the other three practically yelled.

“All right!  All right!  Well, Fabian and I decided that—first off, he and Gideon would have different un-Death-Days because they shared the day that they were born and the day they died and they are sick of sharing.  Secondly, we have decided that Gideon’s un-Death-Day will be in three Death-months.  Thirdly, we want to ask you which would be a more appropriate un-Death-Day gift.  I propose we get him a pet stegosaurus because they are adorable and friendly and there are a limited supply.  Fabian proposes that we get him a ShamWow.”

“A what?” asked Lily.

“It’s this glorified sponge.  Fabian thinks Gideon would like it and _find it more useful_ than a pet stego.  I think he would much prefer the stego.  What do you think?” demanded Ariana.

“This was your _very, extremely, unbelievably important question_?” asked James, incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Whether you should get Gideon a stegosaurus or a ShamWow for this made up celebration?”

“Yup.”

“Get him a portable swamp, courtesy of his nephews,” said James, turning back to The Wall. 

Ariana and Fabian exchanged glances. 

“That’s a pretty good idea,” conceded Fabian.

“And he won’t see it coming, which is the most important bit,” said Ariana.

“Thank you, James,” said Fabian, clapping him on the shoulder.  James took a sip of his tea.

And promptly spat it back out again.

“I hate that cow,” he growled.

“Reasonable be damned, yeh won’ take me like this, Dawlish!” Hagrid was bellowing.

“How dare you!” Minerva McGongall shouted as she sprinted down to Hagrid’s house, “How _dare_ you!  Leave him alone!  _Alone_ , I say!  On what grounds are you attacking him?  He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such—”

Lily and Ariana gasped.  Fabian’s eyes bugged out of his head and James swore.  McGonagall had collapsed from the impact of several stunning spells hit her full in the chest.

“I _really_ hate that cow,” repeated James.

“How dare they!” said Lily, unintentionally using the exact same intonations that Professor McGonagall had been using when she had been hurrying into battle.

“When she dies, can we do something very nice for her?  Maybe offer to decorate her house?” asked Ariana.

“I don’t think she would like you to decorate her house, Ariana.  Besides, her husband predeceased her,” said Fabian.

“I didn’t know she had been married,” said Lily.

“Yep.  He was a cousin of my mum’s.  Nice bloke.  Deadly allergic to prawns.  But I agree we should do something nice for her when she dies.”

“Make her a cake or something,” agreed James.

“I can’t believe that just happened.  I can’t believe Dumbledore isn’t at Hogwarts.  I can’t believe many, _many_ things,” said Lily, sipping her tea.

Ariana leaned back in her chair and began chattering about something.  Her voice sounded very high-pitched today for some reason that James did not understand.  He ignored her and focused on The Wall.

Normally, he would tell Lily, Ariana and Fabian—who were chatting away happily—what he was seeing.  Normally, he would screech and holler that Sirius had been tortured and that Harry was going to rescue him.  Normally, he would call Umbridge—and Snape—very bad names very loudly while they tried to get Harry to tell them the truth about why he was trying to use the fireplace in Umbridge’s office.

He supposed it was rather like Lily’s numb days, only for him, all he could think were evil thoughts—like how Sirius was being an idiot if he had let himself be taken hostage; like how Umbridge was a cankled toady; like how Snape had never had a decent bone in his body; like how Kreacher was a lying piece of scum, just as Sirius had always said.

He was mildly impressed with Hermione’s ability to think on her feet.  Unfortunately, her plan led her and Harry into the heart of the Forbidden Forest, a place that they did not know nearly as well as he had known it when he had been their age.  They were extremely lucky that Umbridge was foul—and idiotic—enough to harass a group of centaurs because otherwise they would have had no choice but to run for it—and she was, even if he hated to admit it—a rather competent witch. 

He couldn’t see what Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna and Ginny were flying on.  Indeed, The Wall had skipped over the arrival of the other four into the forest (if they had indeed met in the forest.  He assumed so).  By the looks of it, Harry, Neville and Luna were the only ones able to see whatever they were flying on as well.

“Thestrals,” said Ariana,  “How did they get thestrals?”

“No idea,” grumbled James.

“Where are they going?” demanded Lily, her hands covering her mouth, “Why didn’t they just stay at school.  What could have possibly prompted them to leave Hogwarts?”

“Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood…We’re here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first!” Harry said to whatever was working the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

“Who are they trying to save, James?” asked Lily.  She sounded nervous.  James did not reply.  His eyes were fixed on The Wall, as though he were hypnotized.

They were standing in a room, which looked rather like an amphitheatre.  In the middle, there was a dais on which stood an archway with a gently fluttering, tattered black curtain.

“Who’s there?” asked Harry, jumping down the benches.

“Careful!” hissed Hermione.

“Sirius?” Harry said quietly.

“Are they rescuing Sirius?” demanded Ariana.

James did not reply.

“You are being mighty helpful there, James,” said Fabian.

James did not reply.  His eyes were fixed on The Wall.

Something didn’t feel right.  How had there not been a single member of the Ministry there to see them go in?  How had there not been Death Eater sentries, if Voldemort were really there, torturing Sirius?  Then, a wave of horror flowed over James.  _He’s not there.  This is a trap._   His eyes bugged out of his head.

“What do you see?” murmured Lily, as though she did not want to disturb the quiet on The Wall.

“N-nothing…”  He didn’t want to upset her.  She would flip out.  And he wasn’t sure that he was right.  Aw hell, he was right.  He was always right about this.  And usually, Harry was pretty damn close, too.  But right now…great time for the Lily genes to kick in.

They were walking through the Hall of Time.  Ariana made a noise.

“What?” hissed Fabian.

“I was just thinking how useful it would be if we had one of those here.  Then we wouldn’t have to guestimate un-Death-Days.”

“Shut it, Ariana,” snapped Lily.  She was holding her breath.

“What is it?” Ron asked, sounding unnerved.  “What’s your name doing down here?”  Lily gasped.  “I’m not here…None of the rest of us are here…”

“Harry, I don’t think you should touch it,” said Hermione sharply.

“Why not?  It’s something to do with me, isn’t it?”

“Don’t, Harry,” said Neville.

“It’s got my name on.”

He reached for the ball.  “No, no, no,” moaned Lily.

He picked it up.  Nothing happened.

At least, nothing happened until Lucius Malfoy’s voice rang through the darkness.  “Very good, Potter.  Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me.”

“You great idiot,” grumbled James, “It was a trap, you fool.  You _foolish_ boy.”

“I want to know where Sirius is!” Harry was saying.

“ _I want to know where Sirius is!_ ” mimicked the horrible Bellatrix Lestrange.

“When did she break out?” demanded Fabian.

“While you were ballroom dancing, I imagine,” muttered James.

“What was that?  I couldn’t hear you,”

“Earlier this year.  Around when Harry gave an interview,” James said.

“When did he give an interview?”

“Oh shut up, the pair of you,” snapped Lily.

The six students were smashing shelves and running in six different directions.

“This can’t end well…” said Ariana.

“It really can’t,” whimpered Lily.

James was astonished at how quiet everyone was.  There was absolutely no way that they could be in the same bad mood as he.  The only possible reason was that they were nervous.  Lily gasped, Ariana made strange noises in her throat and Fabian cursed under his breath.  But they were not talking to one another at all.

Lily began to cry when Hermione was hexed.  Ariana bit her knuckles when they watched Ron grab the brains.  Fabian began adding darker curses to the stream that was flowing from his mouth.

They were surprisingly silent when Harry and Neville stood alone against the Death Eaters in that strange room with the dais. 

Then…

“It’s about bloody time!” James grumbled.  Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt had sprinted into the room.  “Does anyone want any more tea?” he asked, standing up.

He wasn’t worried anymore.  And his black mood was now more of a darkish gray.  And he felt the urge to stretch his legs.

No one replied.  They were all staring fixedly at The Wall.

James went into the kitchen and began rifling through the cabinets.  He really, _really_ wanted Darjeeling tea, but Lily hated it and always hid it in the back so that she would never even have to look at it.

He heard their cries of “Oh, a little more to the left!” and “damn it!” and such as he prepared his tea.  He had a special way of doing it.  First, you added several spoonfuls of sugar to the mug.  Then you squeezed the lemon quarter.  Then you stirred the lemon and the sugar together.  Then you added the hot water and stirred some more.  Then, and only then, did you add the tea bag.

He did not notice Lily’s gasped “No!” or Fabian’s “Well…here comes another one.”

He did not notice when Ariana began saying “Stop it!  Harry!  Don’t be rash!  Dumbles is there!”

(“Dumbles?” Lily replied.)

(“Can’t I have a nickname for my brother?”)

He did not notice that Harry was sending illegal hexes at Bellatrix Lestrange when he walked back into the living room because something else had taken hold of his attention all together.

There were only two things that had the power to completely reverse his dark moods.  Sirius Black standing in the doorway of 210 rue Colbert was one of them.


	17. The Flimbert Society

Melanie Salazar, a muggle girl, died a rather glorious death.  She died because she lay down in front of a meat transport truck, in the hopes of saving the poor cows that were inside from a miserable, painful and dirty death (she was a rather militant vegan).  The truck didn’t see her, and when the truck driver did indeed run her over, he thought that he must have run over a cat, because Melanie Salazar is a rather small girl.  Why, I hear you cry, am I mentioning her at all? You shall see why.  Bear with me.

She was sent to live in the vegan corner of Death, and enjoyed going on rather long runs.  She started with A, then moved on to B, then to C and so on and so forth.  The only problem is, Melanie Salazar has very little sense of direction and only knows where she lives when she sees something that was similar to her house.  So one day, as she was running through some part of Death (she was supposed to be in G, although she could never really be sure) when she stumbled upon a house that looked like it could possibly be hers (there were tomatoes in the front garden and a very pretty rose bush).  So, rather tired, she walked up and pushed open the door.

It was made rather obvious to her rather quickly that she was in the wrong house.  For one thing, upon opening the door the sound of sizzling steaks met her ears, and that is something that just doesn’t happen in a vegan’s house.  The second thing was that there were people with whom she had never made any acquaintance sitting around watching The Wall. 

“You get off of him you smarmy bastard,” growled a bespectacled man.

In the scene on The Wall, a bespectacled boy (who was rather similar looking to the man sitting on the couch) was lying immobile on the floor.  A good-looking blond kid was standing over him.  He appeared to have just stomped on his face.

“I will kill you,” snapped the bespectacled man.

“Down boy, down boy,” said another man, this one looked older.  He too was quite good looking, more so than the other man (perhaps because the other one wore glasses, but somehow, Melanie doubted it).

“Shut up.  He just broke my son’s nose.  No one has the right to do that.  I will kill him,” said the bespectacled man.

“Hello.  Who are you?” asked a voice behind Melanie.  She turned around and found herself face to face with a girl a few years younger than herself. 

“I’m Melanie.  I’m lost,” said Melanie somewhat sadly. 

“Come on in.  We’ll help you find your home,” smiled the blond girl.  She led Melanie into the living room.  There were five people there: the two men who had been talking, a redhead man who was about two or three feet taller than Melanie, an old lady and a woman who had a towel wrapped around her hair.

“Hi.  She’s lost,” said the blond girl.

“Does she have a name?” asked the woman in the towel turban kindly.

“I’m Melanie Salazar.”

“Like Salazar Slytherin?” said the bespectacled man, sounding very grumpy.  He received a clock upside the head from the woman in the towel turban.

“Like the dictator of Portugal?” asked the good-looking man.

“How on earth did you know that there was a dictator of Portugal named Salazar?” demanded the woman in the towel turban.

“I read, Lillins.  There was very little else to do while I was living in that infernal house.”

Melanie glanced at the blonde girl, who made a gesture as if to say _this happens all the time, just ignore it._  

“Would you like something to eat?  Lily’s making steak (she has this very good French recipe that involves a very yummy and peppery sauce),” asked the redheaded man.

“I’m actually a vegan,” said Melanie.  She felt distinctly awkward, as though it was extremely rude to be a vegan when you were offered a French steak.

“What’s a vegan?” asked the good-looking man.

“Dear god Sirius.  I thought you said you read.  I bet James even knows what a vegan is,” said the towel turban woman. 

“Huh?” said the bespectacled man, whose attention had long since returned to The Wall.  The boy with the broken nose (well, it wasn’t broken anymore, as a young woman with mousy brown hair had just healed it) was being led up to a castle by a rather twisted looking man.  Melanie had the impression that he was probably tortured by a desire to which he had never admitted to, and since she had a rather good sense of when that happened, it was probably true.

Sirius (the good looking man) gave a rather triumphant glance at Lily, then turned back to Melanie.

“So, what is a vegan?” he asked her.

“Well, it’s someone who doesn’t eat or wear any products that are in any way related to animals.”

“But… why?” demanded Sirius, looking horrified.

“Well, for me, I don’t believe in taking the life away from another creature, but also because most animal-related products are extremely unhealthy and full of chemicals and put our diet off of balance so that we are ultimately more unhealthy than before.”

“But… why?” demanded Sirius, looking horrified.

“Because most animals these days are bred distinctly for the purpose of being eaten and so they are kept in cages and chemically fattened all their lives, so that they are unhealthy when they are killed (not to mention that they are killed in a very cruel way, usually) and that means that all their unhealthiness is spread into us when we eat them.”

“But… why?” demanded Sirius, looking horrified.

“Sirius, enough.  He’s just harassing you, Melanie.  Would you like some dried figs.  I’m pretty sure I saw them in the fridge earlier.”  Lily said kindly.

Melanie’s face lit up at the idea of dried figs.

Lily smiled, invited Melanie to sit down, got up, went into the kitchen, and returned bearing a bowl of dried figs, which Melanie happily munched on.

“Mmm.”  She murmured under her breath to herself.  She loved dried figs.  They reminded her of prostates…

“Ha.  Ha.  Ha.  Do you remember the joy that was free periods?” asked James, leaning back against the couch and looking at Sirius. 

“Good times.  Thinking that we would have time to perfect our pranks but really slaving away over Hortense Banger’s DADA essays.  I remember them fondly.”

“You all worked on those essays?  The topics were utter nonsense!” exclaimed Lily, sitting down next to her husband.

“Well, when you DADA teacher is as fantastic-looking as Hortense Banger—and with a name like Hortense Banger—you want to make sure she thinks you are as smart and sophisticated as possible,” said Sirius.

“In other words, Remus added in big words while looking over your papers?” she said, snidely.

“No!” said Sirius at the same time that James said “Yes…”

Sirius looked over at James.  “James, I’m surprised at you.  There is no way that Remus could think of bigger words than us.  And it is an insult to his very nature to insinuate that he _did_ do such a thing, Lillinskaya.”

“Lillinskaya?” demanded Lily, “Not satisfied with Lillinsky?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading.  ‘-Skaya’ is apparently some kind of female form of ‘-sky.’  In any event.  That doesn’t matter.  What does matter is that I was perfectly capable of thinking of the phrase ‘codified social classes’ at the age of seventeen, and you can’t prove me wrong.”  He promptly stuck his tongue out.

“Here here!” said the redhead man.  He glanced at his watch.  “I’m afraid I must dash.”

“Quidditch?” asked James.

“Yep,” replied the redhead.

“Refereeing or playing?” asked Sirius.

“Refereeing.”

“What teams?” asked James.

“The Typhoons and the Hurricanes.”

“Aren’t typhoons and hurricanes the same things?” asked Melanie.

“That’s why they are bitter rivals,” replied the redhead, “I would have gotten you all tickets, but the match has been sold out for fifty Life-years, so you stood no chance.  I was lucky to be nominated to referee.”

“Hope it goes well,” said Lily, vaguely.

“Ditto.”  The redhead waved at them all and left. 

Lily glanced at Sirius.  “Before I forget,” she said, “Would you mind never calling Defense Against the Dark Arts ‘DADA’ ever again?  I get it confused with Dadaism, which is something completely different.”

“What’s Dadaism?  The worship of DADA?” aksed Sirius.  His eyes were alight with mockery.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

“Here we go,” said James, looking back at The Wall, “How much do you want to bet that Slughorn will fawn over Harry even more than he fawned over you, Lily?”

“All the galleons in the world couldn’t prompt me to take that bet.  I’d lose.”

They were talking about the rather walrus-sized man on The Wall.  He was dressed impeccably, and, indeed was already lauding Harry as much as he could.

“Excellent, excellent, Harry!” he was saying, “Good Lord, it’s clear you’ve inherited your mother’s talent.  She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was!  Here you are then, here you are—one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!”

“He gave him bloody Felix Felicis?” demanded Sirius at the same time that James said “Slughorn is still in love with you, Lily.”

Lily did not reply.

Melanie could not hold it in any longer.  Normally, she said whatever she wanted whenever she felt like it, but had decided to restrain herself when it became obvious to her that these two men—who clearly were digging one another—had a barrier that prevented their love in the form of Lily.  Why was it that men could never just profess their love for one another?  Why did there always have to be a beard?  It was a good idea that Melanie did not give voice to this particular thought, because it was rather untrue and it would have caused a severe case of awkwardness in 210 rue Colbert, where all three lived.

In any event, Melanie could not restrain herself any longer.  “That man—Slughorn, I think you said his name was—is _clearly_ extremely gay and cleary extremely in love with that boy which is why he is fawning over him so much.”

The silence was shocking.  Melanie quickly wished that she had said nothing.

“That’s preposterous,” James bristled, “Slughorn is not gay.  At all.”

“And if he is, that doesn’t mean that his being gay will affect his relationship with his students.  You don’t see McGonagall flirting with Harry, do you?” said Lily.

“Look.  I’m just saying.  First, he shows him a love potion—clearly trying to foster lustful thoughts—then he shows him a polyjuice potion—to show that he can be whoever he wants during sex—and _then_ , he _gives_ him a lucky potion—clearly to help him get lucky!” said Melanie.

“If that’s how you choose to interpret the scene, dear, you should feel free,” said the old woman who had, until this moment, been utterly silent, “But understand that you will, in all likelihood, lose the respect of those who surround you by reading a little too much into the actions of others.”

“Well said, Marlene,” said Sirius, “And Melanie, feel free to continue insinuating that Harry is the subject of Slughorn’s lust.  I want to watch Lily and James turn purple in the face.”

Lily and James glared at Sirius. 

“What?  Harry isn’t gay and I doubt very much that will be susceptible to Slughorn’s manipulations.  He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

“I don’t know…There was some tension between him and that blonde boy,” murmured Melanie.

“Yeah, well, _they hate each other_ ,” said James, forcefully.

“There is a very fine line between love and hate,” said Melanie, taking a sip of her tea.  It burned her tongue.

“That is true…” conceded Lily, “And besides, who cares if Harry is gay?  He should just be happy…”

“I’m not saying that he can’t be gay.  More power to him if he is.  I’m just saying I dislike that my son’s sexuality is being misrepresented by a tiny little girl.  How old are you?  Eight?  Nine?” demanded James.

“I’m seventeen,” said Melanie.

“No.  You’re not.  You are too small.”

“Clearly she isn’t getting enough protein in her diet.  Vegan.  Honestly…” muttered Sirius.

“The Wall went black…” said Marlene.

“Yeah, it does that when Harry goes into the pensieve,” said Lily vaguely, “I’ve been thinking about taking up water coloring.  What do you all think?”

“It’s about time we got some decorations in this house.  Honestly, the only bit of color is whatever The Wall happens to be showing us,” said James, very glad that his wife had changed the color. 

“Will you look at those two!  It’s about time they started doing the dance.  Honestly, they’ve been preparing for it since they were thirteen—probably younger,” said Sirius. 

“What on earth are you talking about?” demanded Lily.

“Them!” Sirius gestured towards The Wall.

“Harry and Hermione?” asked James, disbelievingly.

“No.  No.  No.  _Ron_ and Hermione.”

“Ahhh.  Yeah…I don’t find that surprising, really,” said Lily, “They do bring out the best in one another, I think.”

“And the worst,” interjected James.

“All good couples do,” said Lily, blowing him a kiss.

“I must say,” said James, “I am surprised that it took Ron so bloody long to realize he liked Hermione.  He must be thick…”

“Well, not everyone realizes that they are standing before the love of their life at the age thirteen, James.  It usually takes _normal_ people a good while longer than you…” said Sirius.

“Inferior beings,” sniffed James, winking at Lily.  She smiled.

“You two got together when you were thirteen?” demanded Melanie, horrified.

“Nah.  Seventeen.  But I fell in love with her when I was thirteen,” said James.

“Which is, I believe, why he acts like such a thirteen-year-old around me.  His love for me, most unfortunately, didn’t help him mature too much,” grinned Lily.

“That’s not doing me justice, Lily, my own, my love…actually…you probably are.”

Lily smacked him lightly and opened a set of watercolors and began painting. 

“James,” said Marlene, “I’ve been thinking.  How does tomorrow evening sound for beginning your cooking lessons?”

James looked at her nervously.

“Erm…ok then…Do I need to bring anything with me?”

“Nonsense dear.  I will be teaching you how to boil water properly.”

James laughed.

“You think I am joking?”

He stopped laughing.

“Aren’t you?”

“Not at all.  It’s a very important skill and one that is almost always overlooked by novice-chefs.”

“I thought you had started your lessons a while ago,” said Lily.

“We were going too…then there was that whole thing with James being Maya’s intern, so we had to postpone it.  And I didn’t have time last week because I was at the beach with my cousin.”

“That sounds lovely.  What beach did you go to?”

“White sand beaches in H.  They were glorious.”

“I would love to go, but I hear that the villas they have there don’t have Walls, and so we wouldn’t be able to watch Harry.”

“That’s true.”

“Well, we will have to wait until he has defeated Voldemort, then.  Or until he has died.  Whichever comes first,” said James.

“What is happening to that girl?” demanded Sirius.

Katie Bell had just touched the necklace.  If you are unfamiliar with this sequence of events, check it out in chapter twelve of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_. 

“I don’t understand why Harry is convinced that Malfoy did it and before you say anything, Melanie, it is not because he can’t get Malfoy off his mind because he is attracted to him.  They hate each other,” said James.

“I wasn’t going to say anything of the kind,” said Melanie.  (She was.)

“It’s also fairly plain that Malfoy didn’t do it…” said Lily.

“I dunno, Lily, I think he could have done,” said James.

“Yeah.  Harry’s pretty brilliant when it comes to figuring stuff out,” said Sirius, “At least, for the most part…”

“Usually the gut instincts are dead on,” said James.

“Yep.”

“Gets it from me.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Will the pair of you shut up?” demanded Lily.

“No.  What are you painting there?” asked James.

“The beach.”

“When was the last time you went to a beach?”

“When I was nine.”

“I see…”

“Oh, drop it.  I can paint whatever I damn well please.”

“The Wall’s gone blank again,” said Marlene.

“Look!  Hermione asked Ron out!” said Sirius, cheerily.

“Excellent.  Although they _are_ a bit young.  I think seventh year is a better time to settle down with the love of your life,” said James in a fake pompous tone.

Lily laughed.

“Ehh…whenever you feel comfortable with what you are going to be doing seems like the best time to start,” said Melanie.

The Wall skipped ahead to the quidditch match.

“Well,” said Melanie, “I think I should be getting home.  Thank you for the dried figs, Lily.”

“Any time.  Feel free to drop by whenever you like,” said Lily, smiling up from her painting.

“I’ll walk you to the nearest lift,” said Ariana.  Her voice sounded very strange. 

Now, dear reader, I remember promising that this story would revolve around Lily and James.  But, I must admit, I must break this promise for a moment because I wish, very briefly to follow Ariana and Melanie to the lift.  It will only be a moment, I promise.

“I’ve been wondering,” said Ariana, as they walked down rue Colbert, “why you were insisting upon seeing gay-ness in everything you saw back there.”

“Well…” said Melanie, “I just love the idea of two men being together, you know?  I think that gay men are the best.  Sometimes…” she lowered her voice to share one of her deepest secrets, “I pretend that I’m a gay boy whenever I walk around.  I cut my hair shorter and shorter so that I can feel more in character…”

“Are you gay yourself?” asked Ariana.

“No.  I wish I were.  I’m asexual…” sighed Melanie.

“I wonder…would you be at all interested in joining the Flimbert Society?” asked Ariana.

“What is that?” asked Melanie.

“It’s the top secret society that I founded with the help of Cassandra of Troy.  Flimbert stands for Females Living In Mild Bereavement, Excluded (from) Riotous Times.  It’s a club for women who love gay men and enjoy looking for gay tension everywhere.  It really is a wonderful little group.  We have weekly meetings and keep track of whatever Flimbert moments we may come across.”

“That sounds like so much fun!” said Melanie.  Indeed, it was the perfect club for her.

“Excellent!  That brings membership up to three!” said Ariana excitedly.

The two girls linked arms and walk


	18. I Truly Apologize...

Dear readers,

I am so sorry for this chapter.  I would rewrite it, but I had the ManBearPig Flu during this section of Lily and James’…existence and so I can’t possibly give you an accurate picture of what happened. 

Forgive me for failing you,

The Narrator

* * *

Hello.  The Narrator is sick.  I’m The Wall.  I’m covering for her.  Hope you don’t mind.  

So, I dunno what kind of narrating has been going on here.  Let’s face it, I just don’t have the time to read fanfiction.  I work over twelve hours a day and when I am done, I don’t feel like sitting around at home in my pajamas, you know?  I’m gonna hit some clubs, chat up some Walls, maybe take one home with me.  I don’t have time to live in an alternate reality like all of you.  I am stuck in one.

All I know is what was written in the note the Narrator sent me, which basically says talk about Lily and James Potter and what they are thinking/doing over the course of, say, three-ish months at Hogwarts.

Let me just say, they are so boring.  I mean, sure, ok, fine, James is funny.  But their lives are just so predictable! Lily needs to chill out, maybe take a hot bath, meditate, yoga, valium, I dunno.  _Something_ that takes her mind off that overzealous, under-sexed teenaged boy she is stalking. 

Also, let’s talk about Harry for a moment here shall we.  I mean, dude, seriously?  A ‘monster in his chest’?  Can’t he come up with something better than that?  What has he been doing with his life.  For a guy who has fought off Voldemort like six hundred times, the very least he could do is come up with a better metaphor.  _Or,_ he could just tell the truth: “holy crap man, when did Ginny get so bangin’?  I would tap that…except that she _is_ my best friend’s sister…so I will have to be subtle about that…”  He’s a sixteen-year-old boy for god’s sake.  Even if he doesn’t act like one all the time, the least he could do would be to think like one.  Jayzus.

In any case, Lily bugs me.  All she ever does is tell me what to do.  “Wall, follow my son all the time please” and she doesn’t even watch half the time.  She just sits there, ironing stuff that she doesn’t even need to iron because, guess what, the dead don’t have to iron their stuff!  Their linens and clothes are practically starched!  Then she gets mad at me for not understanding what the hell is going on, when it is her on damn fault to begin with because she isn’t even paying attention.  Because I sure as hell give her a cohesive summary of her son’s life.

But hey, I know that a lot of you probably like her.  And you are totally allowed to.  I’m just the eyes and ears in her house, you know?  I know _everything_ that goes on in that house, and let me just say, there are some creepy things going on. 

But that’s for another story.  Or, if some of you ladies feel like getting a drink later when I get off work, I would totally be glad to elaborate. 

I can see that look on your face.  You are thinking “Sure, you’re a Wall, how the hell can I get a drink with you later.  You are an inanimate piece of infrastructure.  How can you drink a drink, much less go to a bar and get one?”

Well, I don’t know if you really want to know the answer to that one, and I doubt your Walls would want me telling you this, but hey, I’m feeling generous.  Walls can see and here everything you are doing—and what we can’t see, we can most certainly deduce—and, when you are asleep, Walls detach their essence from the physical fixture of your house and party.  Or read fanfiction.  It depends on what kind of day it has been. 

Anyway, because my humans are homebodies, I spend a lot of my nights out on the town.  But, I’ll get into that if I’ve got the time.  I know that the Narrator would be pissed if I wrote a chapter about what I got up to after hours when I was supposed to write a chapter documenting Lily and James Potter.

So anyway…where to begin.  Well, let’s start with Christmas, shall we?

Harry spent Christmas with the Weasleys.  Lupin was also there.  Hermione wasn’t.  James—and Sirius (god, I always forget him.  He only just moved in.  I don’t know what he’s like at all…I mean, I’ve heard Lily and James talk about him, but they talk about everyone and it all mixes together after a while)—spent a lot of time commenting on how thin and dejected Remus looked, and how he needed a good shag.  Lily thought he needed a good cuddle, but that’s women for you.  They just don’t understand what it is that men want.  I mean cuddle?  Seriously?  Sirius and James didn’t shut her up though.  I suspect that James wanted a little more than cuddling later on, and Sirius was not about to cockblock his best friend, you know what I mean?

Being able to overhear pretty much anything in Life that I want (I think it is a reward for being incarnated as a Wall…), I learned that Remus was taking a break from a special mission spying on other werewolves and that he had broken up with his lover—Tonks, if you’ll believe it—because he didn’t think he was good enough for her.  I am convinced that his self-inflicted sadness (because he was miserable, folks) was because he is a werewolf.  He just doesn’t know what it is like to be normal, and so is determined to make himself as much of an outsider as humanly—or inhumanly, as the case may be—possible.

Anyway, they were very interested by Harry’s discussion with Lupin about the Half-Blood Prince.  Sirius and James had never even heard of him (honestly, these people just don’t pay attention!) and they spent a good ten minutes rattling off half-bloods they knew who might be good at potions.  Lily was oddly quiet—which leads me to believe that she knew exactly who it was, and why their notes were so brilliant in that potions book.  So, in other words, it was Snape and James and Sirius were too thick to pay attention.  God.  I like James, but he should realize that any time his wife clams up is because she has been reminded of her sister or her ex-best friend/crush and feels intensely awkward/pained.  He should just recognize it!  But ahh well.  He had other things on his mind, I guess—like getting laid.

They were right on the money about one thing, though: Hermione was just dating McLaggen to make Ron jealous, and she was pissed as hell that he was mackin’ on Lavender all the time.  So, I guess they deserve some kudos…  Of course, Ron is a total idiot because he had no idea that was why she was doing it.  But then again, he is the youngest of six brothers, and so he is used to people spelling things out for him quite a bit…

Then the Minister of Magic showed up and Lily and James and Sirius were all horrified at how much of a tool he was, and they were very vocal in their support of Harry as he metaphorically bitch-slapped the man. 

Sirius was all like “That’s my boy!” to which James replied “you mean my boy,” to which Sirius replied “Yeah.  That’s what I meant…”  and Lily said “It was a brave thing for him to do, but he shouldn’t alienate the ministry at a time like this,” to which the men replied “Whatever!  It was awesome!”

Sorry if that’s as close to the explicit dialogue as I’m gonna get.  Their dialogues all get muddled sometimes.  I only remember some of the better moments—like when James couldn’t find his lucky pair of underwear for a quidditch match and then yelled for half an hour because Lily had ironed it and now it was ruined.  That shit was funny.

So, Harry got back to Hogwarts and had a private lesson with Dumbledore and then I couldn’t see what was going on because I don’t have high enough code-word clearance.  It really pisses me off, by the way.  What could they be looking at?  I mean, honestly?  It’s a sixteen year-old-kid and his headmaster.  It’s not like they are watching porn or anything.  If they were, that would be friggin’ creepy—although I guess it wouldn’t be that surprising, given that his sister has a club that obsesses over gay sex.  Maybe it runs in the family. 

Talk of the devil, and she shall appear.  Pixies one, two and three showed up (AKA Ariana Dumbledore, Cassandra of Troy and Melanie Salazar).  They joined the menfolk and began making Flimbert comments about everything, looking at me like I was showing them a really interesting movie—or, I suppose, gay porn.

They were very pleased when Ron swallowed the love potion.  They had hoped that he would fall in love with Harry and they would start making out (although they didn’t say this using the accepted vernacular—they used their special Flimbert codes to convey it to one another).  They also hoped that Slughorn would some how make Ron his bitch when curing him of the love potion, but it didn’t happen…instead Ron was poisoned!  I gotta say, I breathed a sigh of relief when Harry shoved a bezoar down his throat.  I would hate to have to deal with another ginger—because I’m sure Lily would make contact with him.  Lily’s enough ginger for any Wall, and on top of that, there’s that Hawaiian intellectual violinist, Chris, who also showed up and began chatting with Melanie about the pros and cons (well…mostly pros) of boy love anime.  I promise you, I won’t go into that, though.  I won’t make you have to cross-reference fandoms, because that’s more than you should have to do in your spare time. 

Now, while that was going on, James was enraged at the concept of Harry having to make yet another shift in his quidditch lineup.  (“You just _don’t_ do that this late in the season!” he despaired.)  He was even more disgruntled when Harry was forced into picking McLaggen to be his new keeper because he did not like McLaggen for reasons he chose not to express, despite Lily’s endeavors to make him express them.

He was also not impressed when McLaggen knocked out his son.  As a matter of fact, he was all for going and egging the houses of McLaggen’s relatives.  Sirius was going to be his back up, Melanie and Ariana were going to distract the McLaggens with their cuteness and Chris was going to keep an eye out.  But Cassandra said they would get caught and Lily told James that if he did it, he would be sleeping on the couch for a while. 

The man is whipped, what can I say?  I was actually surprised at how much Lily enjoyed watching the quidditch game—or rather, enjoyed listening to the commentary.  She kept saying things like “If we’d had commentary like this at _our_ quidditch matches, I might actually enjoy the sport” and the like, which annoyed the quidditch fans in the room because they were not impressed with Ms. Lovegood’s work.  I was.  It was friggen hilarious.

But this brings us to the funniest thing I have witnessed in a long time. 

And I wasn’t even there.

While I was editing clips of Life to show the occupants of 210 rue Colbert, I came across a scene that was most enthralling: Dobby and Kreacher kicking the crap out of each other.

This is one of those dialogues that I remember, so here it goes.

 _Sirius:_   What the hell is Kreacher doing?

 _Lily_ : He appears to be kicking the crap out of Dobby.

 _Sirius_ : Who is Dobby?

 _James:_   The Malfoy’s former House Elf.  He’s free because of Harry, and so is unswervingly loyal. 

 _Ariana_ : Flimbert Alert.

 _Melanie & Cassandra_: Definitely. 

 _Cassandra:_  For Kreacher or for Harry, is the question.

 _Melanie:_ Both, I would say.

 _Ariana:_ Excellent.

 _Chris_ :  What do you mean by “Flimbert Alert”?

 _Melanie_ :  Can’t tell you.  Although we have been hinting…

 _Sirius_ :  How much do you want to bet that Kreacher can take Dobby.

 _James_ :  Ahh…I dunno…Dobby would die for Harry.

 _Sirius:_   Come on mate, how much do you want to bet.

 _Lily_ : James, you shouldn’t be betting.

 _James:_   Why the hell not?  I’m a big boy and can gamble without becoming addicted.

 _Lily:_   All right, fine.  But if you lose…

 _James_ : Fifty toaster points.

 _Sirius_ :  That’s not nearly interesting enough.  How about whoever loses has to wear a toga for the next week.

 _James:_   All right.  Sounds like a plan.

 _Lily:_   James.

That was the story of why Sirius had to wear a toga for the next week.

Then, of course, there was another friggen black part.

I mean, honestly.  It’s annoying, being reminded that I don’t know as much as Maya’s Wall.  Maya’s Wall is a total nerd and a total goody-two-shoes, and she never goes out at night and is very loyal to Maya.  I also happen to know that she has a big crush on me, but has never had the guts to say anything.  I suppose I should be flattered—there are several hundred billion Walls in Death, after all, but she is so not worth my time.  It’s kinda pathetic.

So…

That’s where I’m leaving off.

Hope you all weren’t too bored.

I’ll see you around, I’m sure—even if I am only a secondary character in this fanfiction.  Let’s face it, I’m too cool not to be included in future chapters.

Ta.

The Wall.


	19. Sniffling Snuffles

Sirius Black falls into the same category as Ariana Dumbledore on several counts the most important of which, I'm sure you will all agree, is that he was thrilled to die.

Not that he would ever have ended his own life—he did care for those he had left behind in Life quite a bit—it was just that when that creepy old woman told him that he should go to 210 rue Colbert, P, 7,777,777, Death, he couldn't help but feel a tad excited for a reason he only understood when the door to the aforementioned address was flung open to reveal his late best mate.

He was overjoyed.  He and James Potter had always had, for lack of a better word, a "bromance."  They just clicked.  Perfectly.  They fed off of each other's energy until it was almost dangerous to be around them unless you were a trained professional, like Lily, Remus, Peter, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey or a specialist in the activities of the insane.

Sirius’ largest problem, in both Life and in Death, was that he felt completely and insanely guilty about the fact that he was the cause of his best friend’s demise.  But he had no opportunity to express his guilt to Lily and James, as one of the first things that James said to him was “Look, Sirius, it was no more your fault than mine.  Both you and I are the kind of people who are unswervingly loyal to friends, and so we cannot and could not fathom how and why Peter would become a Death Eater.  So, let’s just leave it at that.”

But Sirius could not leave it at that. He could not let go of the mania that had hounded him all of his adult life.  But, somehow, it just didn’t bother Lily and James as much that they had died. 

So, he had to sit and stew.  On the bright side, he understood Harry much better than Harry’s parents did for, as The Wall mentioned in its chapter, Lily and James spent as much time ignoring The Wall as they did watching it.

For example, while Harry was making his way down to Hagrid’s hut under the influence of Felix Felicis, Lily was talking about how to brew it properly and how _Advanced Potion Making_ got many things wrong and didn’t even bother to tell its readers that Felix Felicis was the nominative and genitive form of the word “lucky” in Latin, which was how the ancient Roman potioneers had gotten the idea to brew the potion in the first place.  James was calling her many forms of the word “nerd” and Ariana Dumbledore was working on KenKen.  Sirius, however, was watching the boy on The Wall. 

“You are a nerd-nerd-nerd-nerd-nerd!” teased James.

“You knew this when you married me, darling,” smiled Lily, glancing up from her watercolor, “And besides, most potions books neglect to mention how and why the potions are named what they are.  Potions come from a form of magical theory that is _far_ more complex behind that involved in almost every other type of magic, and their names are just as important to the theory as the names of any other spell you utter.”

“I know that, nerd, but you see, nerd, I don’t care, nerd, because I never particularly liked potions, nerd, nor was I particularly good at it, nerd.”

“Your maturity astounds me, James.  And if you didn’t like potions, why did you take it in sixth and seventh year?"

“Because it’s useful, even if I suck at it, and—more importantly—you were in the class.”

“Thank you, darling.  That’s very kind of you.”

“Nerd.”

“Three-sixty is Seventy-two times five, yes?” asked Ariana.

“Yes,” said Lily.

“Nerd,” said James.

“Your son really is good,” said Sirius.

“What?” asked Lily,  “What is he doing?”

“He’s getting that memory out of Slughorn using bribery and alcohol.  Good boy, Harry.  Although, I guess it is because of the Felix Felicis…”

“Harry, what are you doing?  Drinking with teachers while you are underage?  That’s really awful!” 

“Yeah, but he’s getting the job done, that’s what counts.  And I doubt Sluggy will remember when he wakes up.  He’s rather far gone, isn’t he?”

“I’ve only ever seen him this drunk at a Christmas party,” agreed James.

“When did you go to one of Slughorn’s Christmas parties?” asked Lily.

“In seventh year.”

“You went without me?”

“It was my last chance to go, and I’d never been invited before because this prat over here only ever invited girls he wanted to snog.”

“Sorry, James.  You just aren’t a pretty enough girl for me,” teased Sirius, his eyes still glued to The Wall.  Slughorn was extracting a memory and placing it in a bottle for Harry.

“My mum was dying.  I had to leave school early.  And you went to Slughorn’s party without me?” demanded Lily.

“I feel like this is something I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Damn right you shouldn’t have told me,” harrumphed Lily.

“I’m, sorry, darling.  If it’s any consolation, the party was terrible without you.  Christina Bilnicov spent half the time trying to convince me that she was forty when she was at _least_ eighty, and the only person I felt like talking to,” he shot and evil glance at Sirius, “was off snogging Elisa Marvel in a corner the entire time.”

“You can’t make me feel guilty about that,” said Sirius, “She was an excellent snog.”

“Why didn’t you ask her out again then?” asked Ariana, curiously.

“What?  How did you know that I didn’t ask her out again?” demanded Sirius.

“Well…I switched _Volcano Dares_ was on, so I switched the channel.”

“ _Volcano Dares?_ ”

“It’s not on, anymore.  It used to be when people would see how long they could last in hot magma without showing any sign of pain.  It was intense.”

The Wall went black.

“Oh for the love of god,” muttered Sirius, “Am I the only one annoyed by this?”

“Apparently, yes,” said James, leaning back in his chair.  “Will you scratch my back, Lily?”  Lily pointed her wand at James’ back and he smiled.  “A little more?  That’s it!  Ahhhhh.”

“Honestly,” grumbled Lily, “You could have done that yourself.”

“Yeah, but my wand is upstairs.”

“Oh shit,” said Ariana, who never swore. 

“Oh shit,” agreed Sirius.

“What?” asked Lily and James together.

“Voldemort has six horcruxes,” said Ariana.

“Six whatnows?” asked Lily at the same time that James said “damn him.”

“What are horcruxes?” asked Lily.

“They are items that you put bits of your soul in when you kill people so that you can’t die.  Usually, in the unlikely case that someone makes one, they only make one.  He’s made _six_ ,” said Sirius, gesturing towards The Wall.

“So he can’t be killed?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Well, someone would have to destroy his six horcruxes before killing him, so it is possible…just not likely.”

“Oh great,” sighed Lily.

“Well, at least we will have lots of fun hanging out with all the people he kills,” said James, shrugging.  Lily smacked him upside the head.  “You know what I mean,” he grumbled.

“Is there an upside to this?” asked Lily, dejectedly.  She reached for her watercolors and chose a rather darker shade of blue. 

“Well, Ron split up with Lav-Lav and Ginny and Dean broke up,” said Ariana.

“How is that an upside?”

“Well, it means that Ron and Hermione can get together and your son may finally be free to act upon the feelings he has been failing to hide all year.”

“Huh?” asked James.

“He has a crush on Ginny,” said Sirius.

“Really?  How come I never picked up on that?”

“Because you are surprisingly thick, mate.”

“Ah.  That’d be it, wouldn’t it?”

“Yep.  Good lord!  That is an awesome spell—even if it is undoubtedly evil and may well get him expelled—STOP HITTING ME WOMAN!”

“Do you have any idea how dark that spell is?  Any idea?  He could have killed Malfoy with it, and while Malfoy is not the best of people and I certainly dislike him and his parents, I will not have my son killing people and descending to the level that Voldemort had reached by the time he was Harry’s age!” shrieked Lily, hitting Sirius repeatedly upside the head.

I feel the need to interject that—in case you had missed it—this is the part where Harry James Potter casts the dark spell _Sectumsempra_ upon Draco Lucius Malfoy in a bathroom, earning himself a whopping detention from Severus Herman Snape.

Sirius leaped to his feet—a rather awkward movement, considering he was wearing a toga—and moved to a chair on the other side of the room.

“Oh look, dear.  Snape is going to intimidate our child.  And probably read his mind ad see that he is lying,” said James, trying to get his wife’s mind off Sirius.

“Lying about what?” asked Lily.

“Well, he just swapped potions books with Ron so that Snape wouldn’t know that Harry was using the Half-Blood Prince’s.”

“It won’t make a difference,” said Lily.

“What?  Why not?”

“Snape probably figured it out ages ago.  He’s not exactly dumb and Harry has been doing much better in potions this year.  I’m sure he knows that Harry has been using that book.”

“How would he even know that there were notes in that book?  And when you say _that_ book, you make it sound as though it is the only book in the world like it.  I’m sure school copies of _Advanced Potion Making_ have scribbled notes in the margins,” said James.

Lily did not reply.  Her eyes were fixed on The Wall.

“Lily, will you answer me?” prodded James.

She still didn’t reply.

“Lily?”

“I never thought he’d have the guts to do that,” said Sirius.

“Do what?”  James jerked his head around to face The Wall.  Harry and Ginny were walking around the lake.

“Yeah.  Definitely out-performed his father, yet again,” said Lily, in a way that told James that she was definitely still annoyed that he had gone to Slughorn’s Christmas party while she was visiting her mother’s deathbed.

“Eh, I wouldn’t go that far.  Took less time, certainly.”

“That’s true.  Although, he wasn’t thinking about it for as long.”

“True.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” James practically shouted.

“Your son just snogged Ginny Weasley in front of everyone in Gryffindor,” said Ariana.

James’ jaw dropped.

“I suppose the only thing to be said, apart from what has already been said, is that it’s probably good he’s dating a redhead.  Then they might have ginger children and gingers are supposed to stop existing in less than a hundred—OW!”  Lily had struck him upside the head.  “What the bloody hell was that for?”

“Let’s just say that I am in the mood,” said Lily.

“What mood?”

“The mood to hit people.”

“Oh.”

“Why, what did you think?”

“Usually when a girl says ‘I’m in the mood, it means that she is in a different kind of mood’—OW!”

Lily grinned over at him.

“Prongs, are you sure you love this woman?  Because, honestly?  She doesn’t seem entirely worth it right now.  She’s physically abusive,” said Sirius, standing and heading into the kitchen, “What are the chances that we have some fruitcake in here?  I’m having a craving.”

He loved fruitcake and always had for one simple reason: his mother loathed it.  And so, whenever he was feeling particularly…angsty…he would find himself some fruitcake and would eat it so that he might feel a little bit rebellious.  It is the small rebellions that are the most meaningful.

He had learned that the greatest satisfaction he had ever received in his life did not come from fighting Voldemort—that had lost him all his friends—nor did come from his pranks at school.  Oh, no.  The greatest satisfaction he had received in his pitiful life was when he had ushered Hermione Granger, the muggleborn, upstairs to sleep in the room that his mother had occupied when she had visited the Black Family before her marriage; it had been when Tonks had poured herself hot cocoa—a drink his mother disapproved of for it’s muggle roots and chocolaty sweetness—into his mother’s favorite teacup, ignoring the perfectly clean mugs that Remus had brought into the house only the day before.  The fact that these two events made him feel more giddy than most anything that had happened to him before he had been sent to Azkaban made him realize that the darkest figure in his life was not Voldemort, nor was it Peter Pettigrew.  It was the shrew he most unfortunately had been birthed to.

As he opened the refrigerator, he wondered why he wanted fruitcake right now—if fruitcake was the symbol of his struggle with his mother.  He was sitting with his best friend and two other females whom he esteemed most highly.  He kept thinking about it as he sat down back in front of The Wall with a plate of fruitcake.

Lily and James were silent.  Ariana was still working on her KenKen.

Harry and Dumbledore were in the headmaster’s office.  Then, The Wall skipped ahead and they were in a cave that looked beyond creepy.

They watched with baited breath as old-man and almost-man crossed the water in the cave to a small island, then as the former began force feeding himself a potion that did not look in any way good for the mind, body or soul.  Sirius was very glad that he had died the way he had died, because Dumbledore looked as though he was not enjoying himself at all.

And then, before they knew what was happening, Harry was being attacked by inferi and the already weak-beyond-measure headmaster had to save him with a ring of fire.  Then, they were off.  Back to Hogwarts and safety at last.

“Oh shit,” said Ariana, Sirius, Lily and James simultaneously. 

“Oh for the love of all that is holy.”

“What the hell?”

“I can’t believe this!”

“How did they get into Hogwarts?”

“Harry was right!”

“HOLY SHIT!” yelped Sirius.  He and James lept to their feet.  Snape had killed Dumbledore. 

Ariana bolted to the door and hurried off down the street—presumeably to find her big brother and petition to move in with him.

“I AM GOING TO MURDUR THAT MAN!”

“I KNEW HE WASN’T TRUSTWORTHY!”

“THIS IS INCREDIBLE!  DUMBLEDORE IS SUPPOSED TO OUTLIVE US ALL!”

“DOESN’T SURPRISE ME ONE BIT.  HE BETRAYED US AND NOW HE HAS BETRAYED DUMBLEDORE?”

“I can’t believe it” whispered Lily.

“HE BETRAYED YOU?”

“IT’S APPARANTLY HIS BLOODY FAULT THAT VOLDEMORT EVER HEARD THAT PROPHECY!”

“WANKER!  CAN WE MAKE HIS DEATH HELLISH WHEN HE GETS HERE?”

“YES!”

“WHY ARE WE STILL SHOUTING?”

“NO IDEA.  BUT MY THROAT HURTS, CAN WE STOP?”

“Sure.”

Both men sat back down.  They watched quietly as Harry tore across the grounds of Hogwarts in hot pursuit of Snape.

They were perfectly docile when Hagrid’s hut caught fire and made no a noise when Snape began dueling Harry, except when James turned to Lily and said, “Did you know he was the Half-Blood Prince?”  She did not reply, and so he turned back to The Wall.

“That’s my brother’s handwriting,” said Sirius, dully.

“What?” asked James.

“RAB.  Regulus Arcturus Black.  My brother.”

“Why would he try to destroy a horcrux?” asked Lily.

“No idea.”

“Do you want to ask him?”

“Do I have to?  I really don’t feel like seeing him,” said Sirius, taking a bite of his fruitcake.

“Not now.  If it becomes vitally important…we may force you…” said Lily.

“All Right.”

“I didn’t realize Lupin and Tonks were together…” said James.

 _That is because you are, as Sirius has previously stated, surprisingly thick,_ wrote The Wall.

“Good for them.  I actually quite like that,” said Lily after a moment of appraisal. 

“Yeah, me too,” said James placing his arm around Lily.

“Should we contact Dumbledore?” asked Lily.

“Nah.  We’ll get to it.  He’s only just gotten here.  He doesn’t need us harpooning him with questions about our son.  Besides, let him spend some time with his sister.  He spent all his life feeling guilty for killing her.  The least we could do is give her enough time to say ‘Hi big brother, I’m so glad I died young, can I move in with you?’”

“Good point…”

They sat and watched Dumbledore’s funeral.  Or rather, they watched the people at Dumbledore’s funeral.  They commented on the renewed pinkness of Tonks’ hair (“Someone got some…”), on Umbridge’s presence (“God, I hate that bitch…”), on Grawp (“Holy crap.  He’s _huge_ …” “Not really….”  “Shut up, nerd…”).  They were—if it can be believed—calm.  Or at least, they were calm until Harry chose to announce that he wasn’t going back to school the next year.

Lily’s wrath was beyond comparison.

She shouted a lot.

She threw her iron through the window.

She upended the coffee table.

She stormed out the door and James scurried after her, looking as though he would really prefer to leave her alone, but knowing that if he did, she would probably hurt people.

Sirius finished his fruitcake and brought his plate back into the kitchen.  He knew why he had wanted the fruitcake.  He smiled to himself lightly as he began scrubbing the plate clean.  It was nice to realize that, while Lily and James ignored his guilt and his input, he still was the only parent that Harry had ever known and the only parental figure who understood him completely—except, perhaps, Dumbledore.


	20. [This Would Be Where A Witty Chapter Title Would Go…But I Can’t Think Of One, So There Goes That Plan]

Now, as I am quite sure you all remember, at the end of the previous chapter, Severus Snape killed Albus Dumbledore and there was general outrage at 210 rue Colbert.  Ariana Dumbledore departed quickly, and the remaining set of people assumed she was off to welcome her brother to Death.

She wasn’t.

She had forgotten that she had a Yoga Lesson and so hurried over to Q to meet up with her instructor and Cassandra.

So, Albus Dumbledore arrived in D, had coffee with his parents—who were proud of him, for the most part—and went to his own apartment in 47 Place de la Chapellle Orientale.  He made himself some dinner and fiddled around with his Wall until he fully understood exactly how it worked.  Being Albus Dumbledore, this took him 4.75 seconds.  He then settled himself down and began watching.  He smiled approvingly as Snape confounded Mundungus as per his portrait’s instructions. 

For the most part, he sat very calmly, his head resting on his long fingers, hoping to god all of his hard work, all of his careful planning, would not go to waste and that Harry would have a good enough brain to work out that the Locket had been removed from number twelve Grimmauld Place before Dumbledore had realized that it was there, that Bellatrix Lestrange had put the Hufflepuff’s cup in her vault at Gringotts and that Riddle—the foolish man that he was—had hidden the Diadem in the Room of Requirements.  Dumbledore was kicking himself for not having realized these facts himself when he was alive (he had done some quick Wall research).  He could have surely disposed of them most adequately and then Harry could have told Harry that he was the last Horcrux himself, without having to rely on Snape.

He sighed.  Of course, there was something he wanted to know even more, although he didn’t have the heart to admit it to himself.  In some childish corner of his brain, where he kept his best and worst memories from the summer Gellert had lived nearby, crept the question of the Deathly Hallows.  That he had had all three in his possession…that he had had all three and never used them together…that he had not mastered death—and more importantly—had not wanted to after what had happened to his poor beloved sister.

She hadn’t been at his parents’ apartment when he had had coffee with them.  They had said she was out and about, as she usually was. 

He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to see her.  He didn’t know what he would do, how he could repent, why she would forgive him. 

He suddenly felt like a terrified little boy all over again.  He remembered the horror, the absolute, unrelenting terror he had felt when he had seen Ariana dead on the ground.  He rememberd Aberforth’s cry of despair.  He did not remember Gellert running while he and his brother bent down to see if she really was…if she really had been…

Guilt.

Guilt had run rampant through his very being until the day he died.  He hadn’t cared that Gellert had continued with their plans without him, using _his_ lines and _his_ schemes.  He just wanted to make things better. 

So far, he had not succeeded, but if all went as planned…

Maybe, just maybe, they would.

So, Alastor had died.  That was most unfortunate.  He did not doubt that he would have been useful to have around.  Alastor, who was sharper than a razor and more capable than all of the Aurors he had trained.  If anyone deserved—and how he hated to use this phrase!—to die at the hands of Voldemort, it was Alastor.  It was a fitting way, he supposed.

And George Weasley had lost an ear! But at least he got away with his life.  And, now no one could ever confuse him for Fred anymore. 

Yes…on the whole, quite well done.  True, Alastor was an unfortnate loss, and Mundungus…well…who had expected anything different, really? 

Now all that was left before Harry was to set off on his journey was…

Good girl, Miss Granger!  Summoning those books.  Excellent, excellent, thought Dumbledore.  It was just as he had expected.  Very good.  Now she would know.  And he was confident that she would not misuse or misplace those books.  She would guard them with her life—he was positive. 

Ahh yes, here it is, he thought when Scrimgeour arrived at the Burrow and drew Harry, Ron and Hermione inside.  Good.  Ron had recieved his Deluminator.  Excellent.  He would put it to good use.  Of course, he would never fully understand it.  But he had not inteded for Ron to _understand_ the Deluminator.  Just to use it blindly. 

And yes—there it went.  Hermione had received his copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.  Excellent.  Of course…that was strictly for…no use whatsoever for the Horcruxes…

And Harry.  There went the Snitch with the Stone inside.  But…yes, he had half expected as much.  Of course they wouldn’t give him Gryffindor’s sword.  He hoped his portrait had enough sense to get Snape to find a way for it to get to Harry as soon as possible.  The longer that Harry had that sword, the better.  Because who could know how long he would have a Horcrux and it would be much better if he could get rid of it as quickly as possible.

He leaned back in his chair.  He knew that Harry was not going to set off until after Bill Weasley’s wedding to that charming Delacour girl.  He intended to enjoy himself and watch as Ron Weasley found himself incapable, yet again, of admitting to himself that he loved Hermione Granger.  Teenagers were terribly amusing sometimes.  It was like Lily and James all over again—only this time, the boy couldn’t admit his love.  He wondered where Lily and James were.  He supposed they were somewhere in Death.  He would have to look them up sometime soon, explain to them why he had put their son in such tremendous danger.

There was a knock on the door.  Upon opening it, Dumbledore found himself in the extremely forceful embrace of a blonde girl who was about half his height.

“About bloody time!” shrieked the girl.  He recognized that shriek.

“Ariana?” he gasped.

“About bloody time!” repeated Ariana, “Do you have any idea what I have been through?  Only you and Ab would live to be a hundred and fifty.  Honestly.”  She took a step back and Dumbledore found himself staring into the clear blue eyes that he was so used to seeing in his brother, or a mirror.  He remembered Ariana’s eyes of old—vacant, dreamy, childish.  They carried all three characteristics still, only now there were definitely others to be added to the mix: deviousness, intelligence, curiosity, bravery—things that he recognized in his parents and brother’s eyes.

“Ariana…” he repeated.  He took a step back to better look at her.  She was wearing the same blue dress she had died in.  Her hair was the same length.  “I don’t know what to…” he whispered.

“Look.  Don’t mention it.  Biggest favor you ever did me, I promise you.  Do you have any idea how much Life sucks when you can’t perform magic, communicate normally, or leave your house?  It’s just not that fun.  I mean sure, I loved you guys, but hey, here,” the dreamy quality in her eyes began to dominate the others, “here, I’m free.  Totally free.  It’s wonderful.”

Dumbledore stared at her.  “You are glad to be dead?”

“Of course!  Aren’t you?  Isn’t it nice here?”

“But I died old, having lived a long life.”

“So?  What’s the difference?  I died young before I could really begin to live my miserable one.  We’re both happy about dying, so what’s the big deal?  And if you say, _I’ve lived a guilty life for the past hundred and fifty years because I killed you_ ,  all I can say is you weren’t thinking clearly—or you were trying too hard to be a good person.  You didn’t think the _She’s better off dead_ thing was actually true when it really, _really_ was.  Now.  Let’s put it all behind us, ok?  We’re both here now.”

Dumbledore had no idea what to say.  I would compare his reaction to Sirius’ reaction when Lily and James said to put the whole thing behind him, except that Dumbledore had been guilty a lot longer than Sirius had been—and had been guilty to a much greater extent, having actually killed his sister.

“Look, if you want to make it up to me,” said Ariana, “you can let me live here with you.”

“What?”

“Well, I love mum and dad and everything, I really do, but the walls are way too thin here, and they…well… I don’t know if you want to know but they are…” she shuddered.

“Making up for the years of marital bliss they missed out on?” asked Dumbledore.

Ariana shuddered again and did not reply.

“Very well then,” he said, “I don’t see why not—unless there is something you are hiding from me.”

“What could I be hiding from you?” asked Ariana sweetly. 

“Drug habit?” he asked.

“Nah.  I have a natural sugar high.  That’s about it.”

“All right.”

“Oh and, if you are going to watch Harry, you might want to go over to Lily and James’ house.  That’s where all the cool cats are at.”

“Excuse me?”

“They watch Harry all the time and it is more fun to do that with people than to do it on your own,” shrugged Ariana, “That’s where I’m going now, if you would like to join me.”

 

* * *

“Professor Dumbledore!” cried Lily when he strode through the door of 210 rue Colbert, “What on earth have you done to my son?!”

Dumbledore had been expecting this—Lily had always been very quick to let her emotions take control—but before he could reply, James cut her off.

"Hello, Professor.  Won’t you come in and have a spot of tea?  Lily’s just gone out of her mind with fury because, instead of going to Hogwarts this year, Harry has chosen to hide out at 12 Grimmauld place and hunt bits of Voldemort’s soul.”

“Also, did you know that Kreacher helped Regulus get that locket before you died?  Because you really didn’t have to drink that potion,” added Sirius.

“You really should contact him, Sirius,” said Lily.

“Why?” demanded Sirius.

“Because he’s your brother and before he died, he saw—to an unknown extent—the error of his ways and he’s been here for the past seventeen years.”

“Yeah, but I’m older.  And he’s the one that went to my side, so he should approach me.”

“James, back me up!”

“Oh no,” said James from the kitchen where he was fetching tea, “I am _not_ getting involved in this one and you can’t make me.”

“I’m not going to give up on this one,” said Lily.

“Why?” asked Sirius.

“Because, it’s what older siblings are supposed to do!  They are supposed to look after the interests of the younger and if Regulus died for a cause that _you_ supported, the least you could do would be to send him a note saying _I just heard how you died.  I’m sorry.  It would be nice to have tea sometime_.”

“How about I nix the tea sentence and send it?”

“No.  You are sending the tea sentence.”

“Why?”

“Because you are using my toaster.”

“I live here too, you know?”

“I do all the cooking and ironing.  So I control the house.  You have a problem with it, start cleaning the bathroom every now and then.  God, I feel as though I am trapped in the 1950s sometimes with the pair of you.”

“I am learning how to cook, Darling,” said James, sitting down on the couch and setting the tea on the coffee table, “Marlene taught me how to make a killer lasagna the other day.”

Lily rolled her eyes.

“Why is it that your Wall is so much further ahead than mine?” asked Dumbledore.

“Ours,” corrected Ariana.

“Than ours,” he rectified.

“You’re moving in with him?  How wonderful!” smiled Lily.

“I imagine it’s because our Wall is a tad dictatorial,” said Sirius, “It just skips ahead on its merry way without asking us how we feel about it.”

 _And don’t you forget it_ , wrote The Wall.

“You are sending that note, Sirius,” commanded Lily.

“Fine, woman!  Merlin, James, why did you have to marry such a bossy…”

“Because I happen to enjoy her company quite a bit,” said James cheerily.

“I don’t understand why Kreacher is such a big fan of Harry all of a sudden,” muttered Sirius as he scribbled a note on a piece of paper.  “Oh dear,” he said sarcastically, “I don’t know Regulus’ address.  Guess I can’t send the letter…”

“You can just put his name and the name of his parents and siblings, which I trust you know, and it will get to him,” said Ariana.

Sirius glared at her, but put the information on the envelope and placed the card in the toaster.

“I always did tell you Sirius that Kreacher was capable of great loyalty and affection if you knew how to access it,” said Dumbledore.

“Yeah, but…oh never mind,” muttered Sirius, “It is clearly just beat up on Sirius day.  I know how to play along.”

“It most certainly is,” grinned James.

“Why is Remus there?” asked Lily.  They all turned to The Wall.

If you are not acquainted with what happened in the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place, I recommend you take a gander at JK Rowling’s _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_.  It is in Chapter Eleven where Remus Lupin, most uncharacteristically, offers to leave his wife and unborn child to help Harry hunt horcruxes. 

“Damn right, kicking him out of the kitchen like that,” said James.

“How could Remus do such a thing?” whispered Lily, “It is so unlike him.”

“I dunno…”

“You aren’t a parent…nor are you married, Padfoot.  You don’t do things like that,” said James.

“He isn’t a parent yet.”

“He may just wish to help Harry in order to make the world his child will grow in a safer place,” offered Dumbledore.

“He could protect that child a lot better by being present in its life.  Look who it’s related to,” said James.

“That’s a fair point,” said Sirius.

“But if his expertise could actually be of use, he might be able to help Harry defeat Voldemort quickly enough to return to his wife before she bears the child,” said Dumbledore.

“That’s no reason,” said Lily,  “You can’t honestly be siding with him, Professor.”

“I am playing the devil’s advocate.  I think that Remus could be of great use to Harry, but currently has other more important commitments.”

“Good.  You had me worried there for a moment.”

“I would never intend to distress you, Lily.  Unless, of course, it was for the greater good, like right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you not just attack me because your son is no longer at Hogwarts?”

“Well, he _is_ the only one who can do it,” conceded Lily.

“Exactly.”

A note popped out of the toaster.

“It’s for you,” said Ariana, who was sitting on the coffee table for reasons best known only to herself.  She handed the note to Sirius.

He read it quickly and then said, “My brother is on his way over.”


	21. His Death Is Now Complete

When Regulus Black sent a toaster message to his brother that read _Dear Sirius, I would love to have tea as well.  I’ll pop right over, Regulus_ , it is very important to realize that Regulus Black has never once in his life been on time for anything.  His internal clock is much slower than most people’s.  While he was at Hogwarts, he lost a total of one thousand seven hundred and fifty two house points because of his being constantly late to class.  He once was tortured for ten minutes by Voldemort because he was late when summoned (he was never late to Voldemort again).

So, it is hardly surprising for the reader to learn that, once he sent this message, he glanced over at his long time girlfriend, Salem, and then went to change clothes.  Then, when he moved through his living room, he found that the scene on The Wall was far too intriguing to potentially miss—it was when Harry, Ron and Hermione were infiltrating the ministry—so he sat himself back down and watched carefully until Harry, Ron and Hermione were safely in their tent somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

Regulus was obsessed.  He had been ever since he died and learned that Voldemort’s horcrux had not yet been destroyed.  That locket needed to die.

But, of course, once Harry (and the purloined locket) were safely tucked away in the tent, he stood again, kissed Salem on the cheek, told her he would not be long, and stepped out into B.

He took the nearest lift—which was actually not the nearest, but he didn’t know that—and then got lost in P (where he had never been before) while looking for rue Colbert.  He wondered vaguely why his brother lived in P and not in B, where most people with last names that began with B (like Black or Bobbin) lived. 

When he was on rue Colbert, he accidentally walked in the wrong direction and ended up walking north rather than south for fifteen minutes until he noticed that the numbers on the houses were descending rather than ascending. 

So, I would say that it only took him three Death-hours to arrive at 210 rue Colbert was quite an accomplishment for him. 

He knocked on the front door and it swung open.

“Hullo?” he called.

“About bloody time,” mumbled someone.  He couldn’t recognize the voice.  He hadn’t seen his brother for years and had never really spoken to his closest friends.  But this voice sounded rather like it belonged to a teenaged girl.  It did.  “What took you so long?  That note came _hours_ ago.”

“Did it really?  I’m so sorry.  I’m afraid that—”

“Don’t worry about it, Regulus.  Do sit down,” smiled a woman who had to be Lily Evans (Potter, he corrected himself).  He remembered her red hair from his school days.  There were surprisingly few gingers at Hogwarts when he was there.  Just that Weasley kid and Lily.

“Thanks.  Erm, where is Sirius?” he asked.

“He and James went for a walk.”

“So, has he arrived yet?” came Sirius’ voice through the door, “Ahh yes,” he stood rather awkwardly, staring at his younger brother, “Hullo, Regulus.”

“Sirius,” nodded Regulus.

“So, you wanted to get rid of one of Voldemort’s hocruxes?” asked James, who had entered behind Sirius.

“Yeah.  I tried to, but they are rather hard to get rid of and Kreacher wasn’t capable—”

“Nope.  Well, he can’t do much, can he?  Let’s sit.  Has Harry done anything fun and exciting recently?” Sirius asked Lily.

“Not particularly.  They are just apparating around.  They have no idea what the hell they are doing because Dumbledore didn’t give them enough to work with.”

“Where did Dumbledore go?  He was here when we left…” said James.

“Went to see Mad-Eye.  He said he would be back at some point, though.”

“What the?” said James, staring at The Wall.

“Did he just—” gasped Sirius.

“By the looks of it,” murmured Lily, her eyebrows tensed together.

“That won’t be helpful,” whispered Regulus.

Ariana said nothing at all.

“I can’t believe Ron just…”

“I never would have believed it of him.”

“He just…walked out like that?  What does he think he’s doing?”

They all sat in silence for a moment.  Then, Sirius turned to his brother.

“I thought you were a Death Eater,” he accused.

“Nice segue, Sirius,” muttered Lily.

“I was.  For about a month.  Then…I got a bad feeling.  Then I met someone who knew about the Horcrux—she thought there was only one.  Then Voldemort killed her.  And that was it.  I was done.”

“So, you met some woman, she changed your life, died and then you decided you were gonna take down Voldemort?” asked Sirius incredulously.

“I believe it,” said Lily, “I mean, sometimes love is like that.”

“He didn’t say he loved her, Lillins,” said Sirius.

“I did—and do.”

“Then I believe it,” said James, “Do we have any pie?”

“No, I don’t think so, darling.  Do you want to make some?”

“I was just thinking I should.  I really could do with some peach pie right now,” said James.

“Then go ahead Prongs.  So that’s it?  Nothing else?  No special hints that only you could have picked up on.  No soul shattering moment when you knew all you had ever believed was a lie?  No urge to repent for all your sins?” demanded Sirius.

“Oh, there was definitely all of that.  But then she told me to get over it and help her, so I did,” shrugged Regulus, “It’s really not that interesting a story.  When she died, I went all depressed for a while, and then Kreacher told me about the cave and I knew what I had to do.”

“That was much more boring than I had anticipated,” grumbled Sirius.

“Sirius!  What a thing to say!” said Lily.

“It is kind of the truth,” said Regulus, moving his hand through his hair.  He always did this when he was nervous, which was quite often when he was around his brother.

How to describe Sirius from Regulus’ point of view?  There is no truly accurate way to do it.  Regulus spent most of his life doing his damndest to prove to his brother that he loved him, and get Sirius to love him back; Sirius spent as much time trying to convince Regulus that he didn’t give a damn about him.  Both brothers’ reaction made the other try harder in their endeavor until the final straw: Sirius had started dating Elsie Ryan, the Gryffindor seeker and Regulus’ crush.  Regulus was furious and stopped trying to impress his brother.  It was just one blow too many.

Maybe when Regulus had started his subtle rebellion against Voldemort, he had hoped that Sirius would be impressed with his daring.  Maybe he had thought that if he got rid of the horcrux and defeated the Dark Lord, his brother would be proud to be his brother.  It didn’t matter now.  He looked at Sirius and saw the harsh reality: he did not know his brother, and his brother did not know him.  They were strangers—perhaps they always had been.

He sighed internally.  Salem had warned him that that might happen.  She was right, as usual.

“So, this girl…what’s her name?” asked Sirius.

“Salem.”

“Did she go to Hogwarts?”

“Self-educated.  Her parents and older siblings died when she was very young.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Yes.”

“Smart?”

“She speaks Esperanto fluently.”

“Why?”

“She was bored one day, so she learned it.”

“Would mum like her.”

“Mum told me I wasn’t allowed to marry her.”

“Huh.  I like her already,” said Sirius grudgingly. 

“She’s not your type,” said Regulus.  He remembered all too well what had happened the last time he had confided a crush in his brother.

“I’m not saying that she is, I’m just saying I like the fact of her.”

“The fact of her is pretty—” but Regulus could not finish his sentence.  There was a very loud bang from the screen.  Harry and Hermione were disapparating away from Voldemort.

Sirius looked over at James and Lily who were looking back at them.

“We missed it, too,” said James, sheepishly.

 _You are horrible parents, you know that, right?_ wrote The Wall.

“Your Wall is rather rude,” said Regulus.

“Its got color,” said James.

“Salem would have made it cry.”

_Salem Somerset?  I’ve heard about her.  Her Wall is a nervous wreck._

“It’s on a leave of absence right now because it’s so scared of her.  We have a Temp Wall right now.”

“Do you think we could get her in here to get ours in line?” asked Lily.

“I don’t think it would work that well, but we could try,” mumbled Regulus.

“What happened?” James asked The Wall loudly.

_Not too much.  Your son evaded Voldemort, again.  At this point, it isn’t too special when he does that.  If he does it one more time, I win a free vacation to the Bahamas._

“You are betting on my son’s ability to evade death?” asked Lily sternly.

_Yep._

“You have no shame, do you?”

_Nope._

“Lily, don’t get too worked up.  It isn’t worth it,” said Sirius.

“Maybe not to you, Sirius Orion Black, but to me it _is_ worth it.  I am worried to death about my son and…” Lily took a deep breath, but did not continue.

Regulus glanced at his brother.  He was not too well acquainted with Lily to know that she would probably be over this bout of overprotective-motherliness very shortly.

He had the strangest feeling something very odd.  Something most uncharacteristic: he wanted to go home.  He was done.  He had impressed his brother through his actions in life.  He had his brother’s approval over his choice of a girlfriend.  It was as though his life’s goal was now compete and he wanted to leave so that he could savor it during his walk home.  When he saw Salem again, he would tell her this, and she would smile that half-smile of hers and tell him that he was being silly, and loveable, and they would go off and do things of which his mother would not approve.

James’ voice interrupted his reverie.  “What’s your patronus doing there, Lily?”

“My what?” Lily turned towards The Wall and gasped.  Harry was following a doe shaped patronus through the woods.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, “It must be someone else’s.”

“But who could it be?  I thought that the whole reason that we had matching patronuses was because we were _meant to be_ or some ridiculous, corny thing like that,” said James.  He was visibly agitated.  He had a hunch about to whom that patronus might belong and it made him exceedingly uneasy.

“Someone else must have the same one,” repeated Lily.

“Not totally out of the question.  There are about five hundred very common patronuses and the doe is one of them,” said Ariana.

They all jumped.

“Have you been here the whole time?”

“Thanks for remembering my presence, Sirius” grumbled Ariana.

“Well, you were surprisingly quiet.  You should be the way you usually are.”

“Ron’s back!” said James happily.

“And he’s destroyed the horcrux!” beamed Regulus.

Now he really wanted to go home and have celebratory sex with Salem.

“I have to go.  I told Salem I would be back by now, and it took me much longer than anticipated to find your house,” he said, hoping no one would spot the lie.

“All right,” said Lily, “Feel free to drop by whenever you want.”  He was already out the door.

When he reached the end of the street he jumped up and down and clicked his heels in joy.

He had never felt more fulfilled in his life.  Depressingly enough, he was dead. 


	22. Great Minds...

Ariana woke to the sounds of chirping (dead) birds.  She smiled and twisted over in her bed.  There was a gap between her curtains and she could see the sunlight trickling into her room, and beyond the towers of 47 Place de la Chapelle Orientale, she saw a blue sky.

It was going to be a lovely day.

She flopped over in her bed and reached for a book on her bedside table.  It had been five days since she had moved in with Albus.  Five glorious days of sleeping late, and lazing about the house, and not having to worry about being traumatized by her parents.  She would probably move in with Ab when he died (she always had liked him better) but she couldn’t possibly be more grateful to her eldest brother if she tried.

She yawned and scratched the bottom of one foot with her other foot.

She heard whistling in the next room.  The scent of waffles met her nose, and they got along very well.  She popped up, put on a blue gingham dress, ran a brush through her hair and skipped out to the dining room.  There was a plate of waffles waiting for her already. 

“Good morning, Ariana,” said Albus, rather chipperly.

“Good morning, Albus,” she said, smiling up at him.

They ate their waffles together quite happily in a way that would remind the reader of a nineteen fifties movie.  Then, Albus stood and with a wave of his wand cleared their plates. 

“I am meeting with Merlin today to discuss Light Theory.  Will you be all right on your own?”

“I should be fine.  I was going to bounce over to the Potters’.  It is getting rather exciting,” replied Ariana.

“That sounds lovely.  I don’t know if I will have time to pop in but if I do, I most certainly shall.”

He kissed her cheek—again reminding the reader of a nineteen fifties movie—and went out the door.

Ariana returned to her room and went digging around for a good crossword puzzle, then she bounced out the door and to the nearest elevator that would take her to 210 rue Colbert.

It was a lovely day for frolicking, she thought.  The sun was perfect: not too hot to overheat, but not too cool to leave her chilled.  The sky was a perfect shade of azure, the puffy white clouds perfectly dispersed.  It was the type of day that should be spent out of doors but rarely is.

She pushed open the front door and was met with a smell that was much less pleasant than that of freshly made waffles. 

“Hello?” she called.

“Hello, Ariana,” came Lily’s voice.  It sounded teary.  Lily was sitting on the ground in front of the coffee table, surrounded by what had once been a pile white shirts but was now burned chunks of fabric.

“What happened?” asked Ariana, kneeling next to Lily.

“A series of Death Eater attacks when I was least expecting it,” said Lily, gesturing with the iron she still held in her hand towards The Wall, “First, they were at Xeno Lovegood’s house and he ratted them out to try and get his kidnapped daughter back, then they were camping again and Harry said Voldemort’s name and all of there defensive spells were nullified and then they were abducted by snatchers who brought them…” her voice trailed off and she gestured towards The Wall.

They were in Malfoy Manner.

“Where is James?  And Sirius?” asked Ariana.

“James has a quidditch match.  Sirius is cheering him on.  I should be too, but then…” she gestured helplessly to the pile of burnt shirts.  “I was supposed to go to a STEFAN meeting in 20 minutes.  Oh…I can’t possibly go now.”  Her voice was getting more and more high pitched by the second.  She was impossibly close to tears.  “Will you send a message to Chris for me?”

“Of course,” soothed Ariana.  She wrote out a quick note ( _Lily is a hysterical mess and can’t come today.  She’ll be at the next meeting, Ariana Dumbledore)_ and sent it over to B.  She then picked up the ruined shirts and threw them into a fabric recycler.  She helped Lily to her feet and brought her over to the couch.  Finally, she wrenched the iron from Lily’s hands and threw it unceremoniously out the open window.

“You didn’t have to throw it out the window,” hiccupped Lily.

“Couldn’t think of anything better to do with it,” said Ariana.

She walked into the kitchen and fetched a wet dishrag.  “Here, wash your face,” said Ariana.

“What?”

“Wash your face.  It will calm you down.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s what my mum always did to me when I was an uncontrollable wreck.  It worked wonders.”

Lily rubbed the wet towel against her face, then handed it back to Ariana.

She glanced up at The Wall and yelped.

Ariana spun around.  Peter Pettigrew was strangling himself.

“That’s unpleasant.”

“The bastard deserves it,” came Sirius’ voice.

He and James were back and they were looking very surly. 

“Did you lose?” asked Ariana.

“No, we creamed them.  It was excellent,” said James, his eyes still fixed on Pettigrew.

“What should we do about him?” asked Sirius.

“Ignore him, I think.  I don’t want to ever see his face again,” said James.  If his voice had been an atmosphere, it would be crackling with unleashed lightning bolts.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Ariana.

“How did this happen?” demanded Sirius, sitting down next to Lily. 

“Not entirely sure,” said Ariana.

“Lillins?”

Lily said nothing.

“I think Lily is trying to get over her insanity at the moment.  Would you boys like drinks?  I was about to make something fruity with those adorable little umbrellas.”

“Sound’s nice,” said Sirius, his attention turning back to The Wall.

James sat down on Lily’s other side and placed an arm around her.

“He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine.”

Ariana came back in, placed drinks in front of each of the other three, then settled herself down to do the crossword.

It was musical theatre themed.

“Hey, I was watching that!” said Sirius loudly.

Ariana glanced up.  James had paused The Wall.

“Could you two give us the room?” asked James.

“Why?” whined Sirius.

“Because I need to talk to Lily.”

“Can’t you do it upstairs?” asked Sirius.

“No.  Because you will unpause The Wall and like hell am I letting you do that.”

The two men stared at each other for several seconds.  They appeared to be arguing telepathically.  Then Sirius stood and said “Come on, Ariana.  Let’s go for a stroll.  Fifteen minutes, all right?”

“Should be enough time,” said James.

During their fifteen minute walk, Ariana successfully convinced Sirius that skipping would tone his buttocks and so they skipped for a good seven minutes.  (Sirius only realized she had been lying when they passed a group of women who laughed heartily at him).  They also ran around a field of daisies and made daisy chains to give to Lily to make her feel better.

I will not discuss the details of Lily and James’ conversation.  I feel like it might be invading their privacy.  I don’t know why I feel that way (I am a narrator, it is my _job_ to invade people’s privacy) but at this instant, it is my decision and I am sticking to it.

All I will say is that when Ariana and Sirius returned from their frolic, Lily was smiling and humming and water-coloring and James was reciting the Saint Crispin’s Day speech from _Henry V_.

“Did you two have sex or something?” asked Sirius, unpausing The Wall and sitting down on the couch.

“Yes.  And I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” said James.

“Ewwwww,” moaned Ariana, leaping up.  Lily and James both laughed.

"Fifteen minutes, James?  Come on, now," intoned Sirius.  Lily smacked him lightly on the head, as she usually did to her husband.  Then she glanced back at The Wall.

“Poor Dobby,” said Lily.

“Yeah, but he died for a very good cause,” said James.

“True.”

“Is Harry…?”

“Wow, he has got a set of brass ones, doesn’t he?”

“I can’t believe it.  Is he seriously making plans to…?”

“Does anyone know what musical debuted on Broadway in 1979 starring Angela Lansbury?”

“What?” Sirius, James and Lily all whipped their heads around and stared at Ariana, who was working on her crossword puzzle.

“Angela Lansbury?  She’s an actress?  And was apparently in a musical in 1979?”

“You realize we are talking about how Harry is plotting to steal something from Gringotts—an endeavor which will probably end his life, and you are asking us about musicals?” said James incredulously.

“Also, we are wizards.  Why on earth do you expect us to understand what you mean by ‘musical?’” added Sirius.

“Wasn’t it _Sweeney Todd?_ ” asked Lily.

“Thanks Lily!” grinned Ariana,  “I already had a the _dd_ at the end, so that must be it.”

“How do you know that?” demanded James.

“My aunt saw it and was obsessed,” shrugged Lily.

James shook his head and looked back over at The Wall.  “Hey!  Remus had his kid!”

“Really?” said Lily, her face lighting up.

“Yes—yes—a boy,” Lupin was saying.  His face looked about ten years younger.  “You’ll be godfather?” he asked after hugging Harry.

“Bad move, mate,” said Sirius.

“What do you mean by that?” demanded James indignantly.

“Well, I was named godfather and you two copped it.  I think Harry isn’t a lucky godrelation."

“Oh, stop it.  I’m sure that Remus will be fine,” said Lily.

“If that’s what you want to believe,” shrugged Sirius.

“I’m so happy for him.  Ahh, fatherhood,” said James, kissing Lily on the cheek.  “Pity we can’t have another kid.  I could go for a wailing infant.”

“We could always host an one of the infants that die young,” shrugged Lily.

“I don’t want the wailing infant if it isn’t ours,” said James quickly, “I want mini-Lily-Eyes to pop out at me.”

Lily laughed.

“I don’t envy Hermione right now…” said Sirius.

Hermione was disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange and was being accosted by a woman in Diagon Alley.

“ _Really_ don’t envy her,” said James.

“Did Harry just cast the imperious curse?” demanded Lily.

“Looks rather like it, doesn’t it,” replied James.

“My son is a criminal.”

“Like father, like son,” grinned Sirius.

“James never cast an unforgiveable curse.  He may have neglected to inform the ministry that he could turn into a stag at will, but he never cast an unforgiveable curse,” snapped Lily.

“Who do you blame then?  Me?  You forget that I am innocent of everything that James is innocent of.”

“I can blame you anyway.  You spoke to him most recently.”

“I can’t win, can I?” Sirius asked.

“Probably not,” grinned James.

“You know, all things considered, this is a rather well laid plan…” said Lily.

“Do mine ears deceive me?  Is Lillins approving of Harry’s criminal conduct?”

“I’m not approving.  I’m just saying, if you are going to try and steal from Gringotts, the least you can do is disguise yourself as a Death Eater.”

“Well said,” grinned James. 

“Wow.  I didn’t know that by trying to steal from Gringotts, you actually made the people you are stealing from richer,” sighed Sirius, “It makes the entire process so much less attractive now.”

“I know.  Total downer.  That and getting burned all over the place,” said James.

“That’ll hurt in the morning,” sighed Ariana, looking up from her crossword.

“Yeah.  And—damn it!  They’ve been cornered.  I knew this was a bad idea,” said James.

“I would have thought you would approve Harry’s daring,” said Lily, glancing over.

“Yeah.  I do.  Except when he is caught trying to steal a part of Voldemort’s soul out of Gringotts.  That I do not approve of.  Not one tiny little bit.”

There was a slight pause.  Then Harry, Ron and Hermione were soaring over London on the back of a dragon.

“Your son is quite possibly the most amazing combination of daring, luck, and entertainment that I have seen in a very long time,” said Ariana to the speechless adults.

“Well said,” gaped Lily.

“I mean, come on now, this is high quality entertainment.  It’s got impersonations, pain, suffering, flight, melodrama, romantic tension…It’s just flawless.”

“Indeed,” murmured James, “Lily.  Our son is spectacular.”

 _You won’t say that if he falls off that dragon and dies,_ wrote The Wall.

“Yes I will.  I firmly believe it, my good Wall.”

_If that’s what you would like to believe._

A note popped out of the toaster. 

James read it for a moment, then tossed it to Sirius, saying “It’s for you.”

Sirius glanced at the note and read “ _he got it he got it he got it he got it he got it he got it he got it he got it he GOT IT!_   What the hell?  Who would send me…oh.  It’s from Regulus.”

“You missed that?  That’s what I saw first,” said James.

“Yeah, well…He still has another Horcrux to find and he has to beat up the snake _and_ he actually has to get make moron dead, so…he’s not exactly close to being done.”

“Especially since he has no idea where the last one is,” said Ariana.

“I saw him find out about the cup, I—I was in his head,” Harry was saying excitedly to Ron and Hermione, “he’s—he’s seriously angry, and scared too, he can’t understand how we knew, and now he’s going to check the others are safe, the ring first.  He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest because Snape’s there, because it’ll be so hard not to be seen getting in, I think he’ll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours—”

“You were saying?” said Lily lightly to Ariana and Sirius.

“Your son is…is…there are no words cool enough to describe him…”

“You do know what this means, don’t you, Padfoot?  If he and Voldemort are going to have a showdown at Hogwarts?” said James, a broad smile spreading over his face.

“Yessssss,” breathed Sirius.

“What on earth are you two on about?” demanded Ariana at the same time that Lily said “Oh no…”

Both men turned to Ariana and said, in unison, “Fiesta!” 


	23. Who Cares Who He Got It From?

The first person to die in the Battle of Hogwarts was a seventeen-year-old Ravenclaw named Pearl Windham-Marhsall.  She was a rather bland girl, neither interesting nor pretty.  I wouldn’t mention her at all, except that she was the first arrival.  I promise.  She is uninteresting.  Of course, her boyfriend Alfred wouldn’t think that, but he himself is rather boring as well, and he won’t be mentioned at all after this either.

Pearl Windham-Marshall died at 12:05 AM precisely on the grounds of Hogwarts.  I am not sure how she was killed (you will find that, because she is extremely unimportant, how she died is unimportant as well).  As she lay dying all she could think was: _So.  This is death, is it?_ Which sounded intelligent to her at the time, but after she reached Death, she found that it was not.

Pearl Windham-Marshall arrived in the waiting room of Death at 5:47 DT.  It was a very bright room, about the size of an airport terminal and there were quite a lot of people there.  She had barely sat down when the old woman behind the desk called her to the podium.

“You know, this isn’t a podium.  It is a lectern.  A podium, which comes from the Latin word for feet, is something that you stand on.  A lectern, which comes from the Latin word for reading, is something you read off of.”  She said to the old woman behind the desk.  The old woman behind the desk looked at her critically over her spectacles.

“Take elevator P to the 7,777,777th floor, if you please.  You are going to 210 Rue Colbert.”  And with that, the old woman behind the desk motioned her away and called a “Mr. Lyman Gin” to the podium.

Pearl Windham-Marshall took elevator P to the 7,777,777th floor, and found Rue Colbert with ease.  Number 210 was a nice little house that had quite a lot of Christmas Lights decorating its windows.  On the door was a large sign that read “FIESTA!”

 _Dear me,_ thought Pearl Windham-Marshall,  _I wonder if I remembered it correctly._   She was not the kind of person who approved of “Fiestas.”  She approached the front door and knocked three times.

Nothing happened.

She knocked once more.

Once again, nothing happened.

She knocked some more.

The door swung open.  A tall man stood before her.  He was quite good looking and he smiled cheerfully at her.  “Hallo,” he said, ushering her in.  “You’re the first one today.  Have a seat.”  He motioned towards the couch, which was occupied by a small blonde girl.  The Wall in front of it was moving.  Or rather, the images on it were moving.

“Ouch.  That’ll hurt in the morning,” said the girl, next to whom Pearl Windham-Marshall sat.

“What was that?” called a voice from another room. 

“Yaxley just got hit by a Waffle-Head jinx.  A very well cast one.  Probably one of Remus’.  He was always good at that.”  The good looking man sat down on a chair near Pearl Windham-Marshall. 

“And we still haven’t lost any on our side?” came another voice.

“Nah.  We lost a girl.”

“Poor dear.  She will be arriving soon, then.”

“Well, she is already here.”

“Sirius Black, I am going to kill you.”  This statement was accompanied by a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, carrying a large tray of snacks.  She settled them on the coffee table in front of Sirius Black, Pearl Windham-Marshall and the strange blonde girl.  “And you can’t have any of that.”

Sirius, who had reached for a cookie, looked at her, rather incredulously.  The image on The Wall shifted from the grounds to the great hall.

“Why on earth not?”

“Because I told you tell me the moment someone arrived.”

“I did.  She only just got here.  Isn’t that right…I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Pearl Windham-Marshall.”

“Right. Pearl only just got here.  So what’s the fuss?”

“The fuss, my dear Padfoot, is that Lily wanted you to tell her when you heard the knock on the door so that the first thing the poor dear saw in Death would not be your ugly mug.”  Another tall man had entered.  He was bespectacled and looked rather a lot like Harry Potter.

“Prongs, Lillins just has absolutely no faith in my capacity to be a host.  And the first thing she saw in Death wasn’t my face, it was Maya’s.”  The man who looked rather like Harry Potter shuddered.

“She hates me.”

“I know,” said Lily.  “It probably has something to do with the fact that you poured maple syrup into her L base 11 filing cabinet.”

The man who looked like Harry Potter shrugged and shuddered again.  He looked like he was about to reply but there was an explosion on the screen.

“What was that?” asked all three adults at once.

“That, was McGonagall sending Riverdale through the window of the second floor,” smiled the little blonde girl.

The man who looked like Harry Potter groaned.

“Damn.  Wish I hadn’t missed that.  Lily, let’s sit down now.  I really don’t want to miss the battle.”

Lily rolled her eyes, flicked her wand, and sat down.  Several glasses of some unknown drink flew towards them.  Pearl Windham-Marshall was presented with the first of the glasses.  She thought that it tasted rather strange, but didn’t wish to be rude so continued to drink from it.  Lily sipped her benignly.  The little blonde girl swallowed it in one and got up to refill her glass.  The man who looked like Harry Potter took a large gulp, and a look of revulsion crossed his face.  Sirius spat his out.

“What the hell was that?  Are you trying to poison me, woman?”  He demanded, getting up and finding a bottle of Firewhiskey.

“I’ve been trying to for years Sirius, granted I had to take a bit of a break while you were alive and I was dead.”

“What the hell was that?” He repeated.

“Ginger beer.”

“That sounds in no ways appetizing.  Not even the ale bit, which sounds like it is alcoholic in some way.  Is it at all alcoholic?  That wouldn’t even begin to redeem its bad taste.”

Lily rolled her eyes again.

“I am trying to broaden your palette.  And no it isn’t.”

“Oooh.  Mooney.  Nice shot.  Nice shot,” said the man who looked like Harry Potter.

“What happened?” demanded Lily, twisting around to watch The Wall again.

“Hit Giant Toad right between the eyes.  Magnificent shot.”

“You know, if you give people nicknames, it would help if you let people know who they really are and why on earth you have decided to call them Giant Toad or Booger Face or whatever juvenile thing you come up with,” said Lily, leaning against the man who looked like Harry Potter.

He put his arm around her.  “Take a wild guess at who it is under the Imperius Curse.” 

Lily snorted.

There was a knock on the door.

“I’ve got it,” said the little blonde girl.  She was across the room in a flash.  She opened the door.  “Hello Mad-Eye.  Hello Albus.”

“Has it started?” came the gruff voice of Mad-Eye Moody.  He stumped in and sat down next to the man who looked like Harry Potter.  “Twenty Toaster Points on Bellatrix biting it tonight.”  He said to the man who looked like Harry Potter.

“I’ll raise you twenty if she’s killed by a Weasley.” 

“Done.”

“Good evening Ariana.”  Dumbledore twinkled down at the little girl.  She smiled.

“You’re late.”  Ariana replied, leading him into the room.

“Yes, I would say I am.  In more than one way.”

Sirius lifted his glass to Dumbledore and grinned.  The man who looked like Harry Potter applauded. Lily smiled. Dumbledore inclined his head.  Pearl Windham-Marshall wondered why on earth Dumbledore had made such a foolish joke or pun or whatever it was, and why on earth these people were applauding it.

Dumbledore turned back to Ariana.

“I was having dinner with Mother and Father and quite lost track of time.  I am rather—“

There was a crash on The Wall and Aberforth Dumbledore crossed it, shouting at Harry.

“Stop yelling at my son, you old fart.”  Snapped the man who looked like Harry Potter.  He did not seem at all annoyed however.  He seemed to be in a very good mood.

 _Oh._   Thought Pearl Windham-Marshall.  _This must be James Potter._

I know what you all are thinking right now.  _Well Obviously_.  _Golly Gee, you moron_.  Let me tell you this (as I feel some need to defend poor Pearl Windham-Marshall): she was not good (in either Life or Death) at reaching conclusions from given evidence.  Memorizing facts, dates, spells, derivatives, etc. and spewing the aforementioned facts, dates, spells, derivatives, etc. at random moments was certainly her forte.  Alas, none of that really matters in Death, where everyone has had quite a long time to get to know all of this before you.

“Frankly,” said Moody, “I think that’s cheating.  You can’t just speak parsletongue by hissing randomly.  That’s like me saying _polly voo francay_ and expecting a Frenchman to understand me.”

“They would just correct you and use your ineptitude to prove their superiority,” said James, taking a bite of a cookie.

“Probably,” agreed Moody, “but, I suppose if it gets rid of a Horcrux, I can’t complain too much.”

“What have we missed?” A woman none of them had ever seen before walked through the door.  Her arm was linked with Regulus Black’s.  She had to be Regulus’ girlfriend Salem.  Cedric Diggory stood behind them.  For those of you, dear reader, who are wondering why or how Cedric Diggory became friends with Regulus Black, it is a fic unto itself and I do not have the time to go into the gritty details.  I can tell you that it involves Frogspawn, a rusty poker, knowledge of the grammatical structure of Esperanto and the inability to tell time.

“They got rid of the cup,” said Sirius, “and if Lily tries to give you any of that ginger beer, I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.  It’s a drink made specifically for gingers.  It tastes gross to the rest of the world.”

“Ha.  Ha.  Ha.  It’s actually made of ginger root, Sirius,” snapped Lily.

“They got rid of the cup?” asked Regulus, a gleam in his eye. 

“Yep,” said Sirius, “This is Pearl, by the way.  She died.”

“For a good cause, I might add,” said James, eating another cookie.

“These cookies are amazing.  Excellent job, Lily,” said Ariana.

“I made them, thank you very much,” said James proudly.

“You made them?” came another voice.  Marlene had entered.  “Sorry I’m late, everyone.  I must have a bite, James.”  She sampled a cookie.  “You added too much cinnamon, but it is definitely an improvement on the Nachos.”

“Thank you, Marlene,” smiled James.

“This cannot end well,” said Cassandra from the kitchen.  She had arrived during the preparations for the fiesta, and was making her infamous gnocchi.

“What cannot end well?” demanded Lily, swinging her head around to watch The Wall.  It was made quite clear to her what could not end well.  Crabbe appeared to have cast Fiendfyre and it was eating up everything in the Room of Requirement and it didn’t look as though Harry, Ron, Hermione, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle would make it out alive.

To everyone’s surprise—and none more than Cassandra’s—Cassandra had made an inaccurate prediction.  Harry, Ron, Hermione, Malfoy and Goyle were fine.  Crabbe wasn’t.

“So he’ll be here any moment, I imagine,” said Lily.

“Probably.  You should give him that ginger stuff.  He deserves it,” said Sirius.

“Oh, shut it, Sirius.”

“Oh no!  Fred Weasley!” yelped Pearl.  She had always liked Fred Weasley (or was it George?).  But at least she would have some company that was not Crabbe, of whom she was not the biggest fan.

“Ahh well.  Numerically speaking, it was highly unlikely that all the Weasleys get out alive,” said Moody, shrugging.

“That’s an awful—albeit true—thing to say.”

Six teenagers—including Crabbe—in pajamas walked through the door, looking slightly nervous.

“Welcome, welcome!” beamed Lily, “I do hope you all are doing all right.  I’m so sorry you all died, but…well…there are worse outcomes.  Help yourself to some food and some drinks.  James made some terrific cookies…” she continued along this way, introducing the children to the adults.  They sat down near Pearl Windham-Marshall and said very little.  Like Pearl, they are somewhat irrelevant.  Although their contribution in Life was greatly appreciated by those who survived the Battle of Hogwarts, in Death, their appearance carried very little weight.

“Look who we found,” came a Prewett voice.  Gideon and Fabian entered, flanking their nephew Fred, who had a broad grin on his face.

“Hi,” said Fred.

“Fred,” smiled Sirius, “Come sit down over here.  I must say, it is nice to see you again.”

“You too.”

I must tell you now, dear reader, that, as a person, I am quite lazy.  Going into the small talk of every tiny conversation that happened at 210 rue Colbert is a little beyond my level of commitment.  I’ll give you the highlights—I always do—but at this point, with the steady trickle of Hogwarts students arriving, it is very hard to keep track of everything.

What is important is that Chris—the ginger violinist—arrived shortly after Fred and he, Fred and the Prewetts started a Ginger circle right next to Sirius.  They drank ginger beer and discussed ginger things until Sirius was forced to move to the couch and sit between Ariana and Pearl Windham-Marshall.

It was getting to be quite a raucous party.  Cassandra and Ariana sat in a corner making Flimbert comments (Melanie was strangely nowhere to be found), Regulus and Cedric discussed the pros and cons of having underground common rooms with Salem, Sirius and James were doing their damndest to keep track of Remus, while Dumbledore and Moody sat calmly.  Lily was doing her best to make the young’ns comfortable.  Archibald and Helen (who had arrived during the preparations and had decorated the room with red and gold lightning bolt piñatas) told stories about the Potter Tradition of Rulebreaking and Mahem at Hogwarts.  (Fred was quite impressed.)

I would say that the party got louder and louder with each passing moment, as people cat-called and jeered, cheered and chanted until the one thing that could possibly make a crowd of raucous spectators shut up happened: Voldemort killed Snape.

“Damn,” said Dumbledore, his brow furrowed.

Everyone else stared at him.

“What?” he asked.

“He killed you,” said Sirius bluntly.

“I told him to.  I was going to die anyway,” said Dumbledore patiently.  “I needed him to—ahh.  Good boy, Severus.  Good boy.”

Everyone had been too busy staring at Dumbledore to notice Snape giving his memories to Harry and begging for the boy to look at him one final time.

The Wall went black.

“Oh bloody hell, not again!” raged Lily. 

“What is going on?” demanded several people.

“Whenever Harry goes into the pensieve, The Wall blacks out.”

“Wall, would you mind terribly showing us what is going on?” said Dumbledore.

_As I have said about ten-thousand times, no.  I can’t.  I don’t have codeword clearance._

“But it is highly important that we see what Severus gave Harry,” said Dumbledore.

_I know.  I’ve been following this too, you know.  But only Maya’s Wall has the clearance to see penseive scenes._

“Couldn’t you try to persuade Maya’s Wall to give you clearance, just this once?”

 _I’ll try_.

While it is not vital to the story line for me to tell you how the Potters’ Wall managed to convince Maya’s Wall to give him clearance, I find it rather entertaining.  Maya’s Wall has a tremendous crush on the Potters’ Wall.  So, he bribed her with a date.  Even it was surprised at how well its plan worked.

And so, a hush fell over 210 rue Colbert as everyone in the room watched the development of Snape’s love for Lily and his devotion to her, long after they had fallen out.

You could have heard a pin drop—a rare occurrence at that address.

“What’s going on?” came a voice from behind them.

Melanie had arrived.  Ariana leaned over to her and whispered, “It turns out that Snape was in love with Lily the whole time.”  Melanie couldn’t help but feel very proud of herself for guessing correctly.  But she didn’t say that.

She said “Oh.”

People were twisting between looking at her and looking at The Wall.  Then, everyone was staring at her and she felt tremendously uncomfortable.

Only, they weren’t staring at her.  They were staring at Severus Snape, who had entered and was standing right behind her.

Lily walked out the front door, and gestured for him to follow.

“Melanie, I forgot you are a vegan.  Let me chop you up some carrots,” said James.

He got up and went into the kitchen.  He took out a very sharp knife and began dicing carrots. 

He had always been good at creating a smooth exterior.  He knew that people were watching him as much as they were surreptitiously glancing out the window to look at his wife and Snape.

Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut. 

He wished they would make noise.

He wished they would look away.

He wished they would not think what he knew they were thinking, what he himself was too terrified to think.

It was the one thing he and Lily had never spoken of.  They had both always acted as though there were nothing to be said about it.  Neither of them cared for Snape any more.  But there were times when Lily got a look in her eyes that he couldn’t place, and in the back of his head, he knew that _Snape_ would have understood it.  When they had watched him harass Harry, neither of them had dared talk about why he was doing it because it was easy for both of them to blame James.  James was quite proud that his son looked like him, and even more proud that it got under Snape’s skin that he was forced to teach the boy.  He didn’t want to admit to himself—and even less to his wife—that it was not James’ face but Lily’s eyes that caused the antagonism.

Antagonism.

That was what his relationship with Snape had always been.  They had loathed each other from the beginning.  And Snape’s friendship with Lily, at a time when Lily refused James, only exacerbated the antagonism.  Then, the tables had switched and he had Lily and Snape didn’t.

But what were they talking about now?

In what position would their conversation leave him?

Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut. 

He felt her hands slipping about his waist without having heard her enter the room.

“James?” she whispered.

Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut. 

“James?  Love?”

Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut. 

“Please don’t do this, darling.  Please.”

Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut.  Cut. 

“Stop doing this, please.  You really need to be calm, my love.”

“I’m perfectly calm.”  Indeed, his voice was smooth.  Polished.  Pristine.

“No you are not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“James.”

He stopped cutting.  He placed the carrots on a tray with a dip and brought them out to the living room to Melanie.

Everyone was quiet, but they were watching Harry, who was walking slowly across the grounds of Hogwarts. 

He stopped in front of Melanie and thoroughly ignored Snape who was sitting to the right of her, talking about something that he didn’t want to hear.  He returned to the kitchen, where Lily was waiting for him.

“James,” she repeated.

“James, Lily, Maya wants us,” said Sirius.

Without looking at Lily, James left the kitchen, and then his house.  He heard Lily and Sirius a few paces behind him, but he did not acknowledge them.  He knew that they were glancing at each other, trying to communicate telepathically the best way to talk him out of the state of extreme unease Snape’s memories had put him in.

They arrived in Maya’s office in silence, and, to James’ shock, Remus was there.  He smiled sheepishly at them.

“You died?” asked Sirius.

“Obviously,” sighed Remus, “So did Tonks.  She’s waiting outside.”

“Told you your son was an unlucky godrelation,” muttered Sirius.

“You are here,” said Maya, “to give some parting advice to Harry Potter, who is sacrificing himself for the good of the Wizarding World, and the Muggle World, for that matter.  You should all be very proud of him.”

Maya was holding the same mirror that she had held the last time that Lily had been in this office.  She placed the mirror against their foreheads and suddenly, they were in the Forest.

Lily looked at her son and all her worries about James evaporated.  “You’ve been so brave,” she said, smiling.  She was so happy to hear him.

“You are nearly there,” said James.  His voice sounded normal now—caring, engaged.  “Very close.  We are…so proud of you.”

“Does it hurt?” asked Harry.  His eyes were on Lily’s.  James had never registered that their eyes were the exact same before.  Her eyes.  His face.  He was theirs. 

“Dying?  Not at all,” said Sirius, “quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

“And he will want it to be quick.  He wants it over,” said Lupin.

“I didn’t want you to die,” Harry said, “Any of you.  I’m sorry—right after you’d had your son…Remus, I’m sorry—”

“I’m sorry too,” Remus cut him off.  “Sorry I will never know him…but he will know why I died and I hope he will understand.  I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Until the very end,” said James.  He thought it might ruin the moment to add that they had been with him from the beginning as well.

“They won’t be able to see you?” asked Harry.

“We are part of you,” said Sirius, “Invisible to anyone else.”  Somehow, they all knew he was right.

“Stay close to me,” said Harry, looking at Lily again.

They walked with him through the woods.  They stayed by his side, encouraging him until he stood face-to-face with Voldemort.  Then, inexplicably, they returned to Death.  They did not return to Maya’s office, but instead to 210 rue Colbert.  Tonks was sitting with the Ginger crew, having turned her hair a rather horrid shade of red.

They watched as silently as the rest of the room as Voldemort’s killing spell hit Harry in the chest and he fell to the ground.

“Where’s Dumbledore?” asked Lily.

“Maya summoned him,” responded Regulus.

“Oh.”

She looked over at James.  He took her hand. 

There are some things you cannot convey with words.  Love is one of those things.  And James knew that Lily loved him and would not stop. 

“I can’t bear to watch,” moaned Gideon, putting his head in his hands.

“I wonder when he’ll get here,” murmured Fred.

“I hope it’s soon.  I want to see him,” said Ariana.

And suddenly, the room was filled with the discussion of Harry’s bravery, of his kindness, of his goodness, of his luck, of his selflessness.  Lily smiled at James. 

She leaned over and whispered in his ear “He gets it from you.”

If James ever thought he would cry in public, it was at that moment.  He leaned down and kissed her, and found that he couldn’t be bothered that Snape was sitting a few feet away from them.  Why should his love for Lily have to be confined to what Snape would or would not approve of?

They watched as Voldemort led his Death Eaters back to Hogwarts, and announced to the school “Harry Potter is dead.  He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him.”

 _I’m skipping a bit.  This is just depressing_ , wrote The Wall.

“Don’t you dare,” snarled Lily.

 _Too bad._  

Neville Longbottom tore down the front steps of the castle, away from the crowd and charged towards Voldemort.  A moment later, he had cut off the Snake’s head with a sword (that had, yet again, reappeared out of the Sorting Hat).

Fred whooped.

Chaos broke out.  Students charged Death Eaters.  Parents tore up from the gates of Hogwarts.  Roars from the magical creatures of Hogwarts filled the air.  But above all the noise came Hagrid’s voice: “HARRY!  WHERE’S HARRY?”

“He’s not dead,” yelped James.  “I’ll be buggered, he’s not dead!” he shouted to the room.

And the chaos that had filled the room before Harry’s encounter with Snape’s memory returned, even more loudly than before.  But now, the battle was more nerve-wracking than before.  Voldemort was involved.  But so were many creatures and people that hadn’t been before.  Kreacher’s war cry won a cheer from Regulus (Sirius patted him on the back and Salem kissed him).  Fred, Fabian and Gideon roared with glee as Mr. Weasley and Percy tackled Thicknesse, Remus cheered when Aberforth stunned the man who killed him, and the entire room exploded with joy when Mrs. Weasley attacked Bellatrix with a cry of “NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!” 

“Go mum!” howled Fred.

“That’s Molly for you!” shouted Gideon.

“I definitely understand the feeling!” shrieked Lily.

And before they knew it, the bitch was dead, and before James could claim his Forty Toaster Points from Mad-Eye, Harry stood alone facing Voldemort.

No one breathed.  Literally.  They didn’t have to draw breath, so they didn’t.

And all too soon….

“YES!”

“YOUR SON IS AWESOME!”

“HE DID IT!”

“HOLY SHIT!”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!”

“IS HE REALLY DEAD THIS TIME? BECAUSE HE DIDN’T DIE LAST TIME THAT WE THOUGHT HE HAD!”

Everyone was shouting and cheering and the toaster was spitting out letters of congratulation faster than anyone thought a toaster could spit out letters of congratulation.

It was as much mayhem as could be expected, and probably a lot more organized than what was going on at Hogwarts.

“Our baby just defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time.  Again,” whispered Lily.

“I know.  Aren’t our genes awesome?” replied James.

“He gets it from me,” smiled Lily

“You wish,” grinned James.


	24. Epilogue: In which you have to suffer through the tying of loose ends.

“Remus!  It’s happened!” hollered Tonks.  She was inside of their house on 47 Stewart Lane, 47208462, L.  Remus was in the back yard, having some iced tea with Lily, James and Sirius who had stopped by on their way to James’ match.  (He was going to play The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World…and they were quite good.) 

“What’s happened, dear?” called Remus.

“They’ve gotten together!  They’ve gotten together!”

“That’s lovely.  Now why don’t you come outside and join us, dear?”

Remus and Tonks adored each other.  They adored Death.  Tonks had joined an acting troupe, Remus had joined STEFAN with Lily, as had Cedric.  The one thing that the Lupins regretted was leaving their infant son behind—something that both Lily and James could identify with.

After they had died, Lily had spent many hours with Tonks, watching Teddy.  She found it oddly therapeutic to watch someone else’s kid obsessively.  It made the transition into _not_ watching Harry all the time much easier.  As Fred Weasley had pointed out, Harry was getting to that stage where he would feel _most_ uncomfortable if his parents were watching him all the time—and they would probably feel uncomfortable watching him.  But Teddy was safe territory because he was young and sweet and his time with Harry was usually very brotherly. 

Of course, now that Teddy and Victoire appeared to have gotten together, it would be time to wean Tonks, but Lily was pretty sure that she could figure out a way to do it.  Tonks was not nearly as big a basket case as she was.

“They are together?” asked Sirius when Tonks came out and joined them, “You’re sure?" 

“Positive,” said Tonks.  “Little James saw them snogging on the train.  He came to see them—or maybe just her—off.”

“Our son really is doing quite well, isn’t he?  First he gets that job at Ollivanders, then he goes out with the girl he likes,” smiled Remus, sipping his iced tea.

“He had a good role model,” said James, puffing out his chest proudly.

“Yes, he did,” agreed Remus.

“Although hopefully he won’t name his kids the way your son did.  James Sirius was all well and good, as was Lily Luna, but _Albus Severus?_ ” demanded Sirius, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, come on now.  You get along all right now,” sniffed Lily.

“Get along.  Exactly.  It doesn’t mean I _like_ the bloke.  And I certainly don’t understand how or why he seems to be in love with Melanie.  I mean, she likes gay men, for heavens sake.  Does he pretend she’s a—”

“Don’t finish that thought, Sirius, or you will be feeding yourself for a month,” threatened Lily.  It was a threat that indeed had power now that James was as good a cook as Lily.  Marlene was thrilled with his progress, and had stopped teaching him lest his skills rival her own.

Sirius clamped his mouth shut, not daring to face a month of his own cooking, no matter how confused he was by Snape’s choice in a first girlfriend.  He and Melanie had sat next to each other the night that he had died, and as far as anyone knew, that was how it had all gotten started. 

Don’t look at me like that, reader.  I hate introducing characters just so that other characters can have happy endings as much as you hate reading about them, but Melanie and Snape genuinely got along.  She was also different enough from Lily where he wouldn’t be reminded constantly of the love he wished he had had.  And he was a tortured soul—something that appealed to Melanie quite as much as gay men.  They were living together somewhere in the vegan section of Death, although Snape would nip out every now and then for a steak, usually at Lily’s house.  Their friendship could never be fully repaired.  It couldn’t be, so long as Lily stayed with James, but they did their best to be open to one another. 

Being with Snape certainly did not diminish Melanie’s participation in the Flimbert Society.  Indeed, she was as an active participant as ever, and was thrilled with Ariana’s information that her brother was, in fact, gay.  They did not discuss his possible Flimbert moments, however.  They thought that might be a little too personal for Ariana, who shared his apartment.  Cassandra was glad that Melanie had Snape.  She did not feel as though Melanie’s presence was too much when she had someone else to go home to.

Regulus and his girlfriend came over for tea every now and then (he was more prompt when she was around), but on the whole, led his own Death rather separately from his brother.  But he enjoyed most heartily being able to chat with his brother in a light-hearted fashion, something they had never been able to do in Life.  Sometimes Cedric came with them.  He found it much nicer to be in the Potters’ presence now that he had gotten over his love for Cho, and Harry didn’t see her on a regular basis anyway.

Benjy’s second wife died and was able to take control of Silas, Gideon became a division leader in the DQL (something that James aspired to do as well) and Fabian’s flamenco skills were unparalleled in their circle of friends—considering that he was the only one who know how to flamenco.

Tom Riddle Sr. divorced Merope Gaunt—who joined the Flimbert Society, incidentally—and did his best to forget about his misfortunes in life.  He was unable to, however, and ended up trying to off himself, yet again, using the age-old toaster-in-the-bathtub routine.  He failed and he provided Bob Larkin with a great deal of entertainment while the latter fixed the former’s toaster. 

“Yoohoo!” called someone from out front.

“We’re out back, dad,” called James.  Archibald and Helen Potter walked into the back yard.

“Don’t you have to go in a moment?” asked Archibald, “Warm-up should begin soon.”

“I know, dad, I know,” smiled James, “I’m just enjoying myself a bit before I go.  I can be a few minutes late.  I will still beat Cordelia.”

“My, how times have changed,” said Helen, “James willing to be late to a quidditch function?  What have you done to my son, Lily?”

“He did that all on his own,” smiled Lily.  She kissed James.

“Like I said, I will still beat Cordelia, and we never start until we are all there, so what’s the big deal?”

“You wouldn’t get it…” said Sirius.

“Try me.”

“Nope.  You just have to accept that we see a change in you, James Potter.”

James glared at them.  “I hate you all.  And I’m leaving.”

James didn’t hate them all.  Far from it.  He loved his wife more than ever.  She was the paragon of all that good in his life.  She was love.  She was understanding.  She was humor.  She was willing to smack him upside the head in the way that he both adored and abhorred.  She entertained him endlessly, whether in her fights with The Wall (which was just as much an ass as ever), or in her willingness to recite Shakespeare with him, or in their strange, argumentative foreplay.  He loved her, and would never stop.

And Sirius was his brother.  Their “bromance” was never to end.  And Remus was like a close cousin.  And Tonks was a lovely young lady.  And even Snape was better than he had been before (loath as James was to admit it) because he wasn’t the black hole of doom in Lily and James’ relationship anymore.  They could talk about him without fear of it destroying them—something for which James was extremely grateful.

He waved goodbye to everyone and searched for the nearest lift.  Finding it, he checked to make sure Maya wasn’t inside.  He still avoided her like the plague, and _always_ ran into her when he was late and she was in the lift he needed to take.  She wasn’t inside and he took the Elevator to A. 

 _They really should find a way to tell the living more about Death,_ thought James, _There is no need for them to be scared of it.  They should look forward to it—not that they should all go offing themselves to get here sooner.  But, as inevitable things go, this could_ really _be a lot worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. There's an "outtake" type scene that I need to edit and will post separately at some point. Thanks so much for reading on this far!


End file.
